The Sting of Death

by Rebecca Tope

  The woman was effusive. ‘Oh, it’ll be so wonderful to be rid of them. I know Teddy loved them, but it was always a worry. I swell up terribly every time I’m stung.’

  Roma stared at her. ‘But you’re not afraid of them?’

  ‘Oh no. I always think it’s such a shame that they die when they sting you. I mean, when you think of that, you can’t really complain, can you?’

  The logic gave Roma some pause. She’d never looked at it like that before.

  ‘But you’ve just helped me carry a hiveful. What if we’d dropped it?’

  The woman smiled. ‘Don’t you find, dear, that it’s never the obvious danger that strikes? It’s always something you couldn’t have foreseen or protected yourself against. I suppose I’m more likely to be stung now, with the bees gone, than I was before. That’s the way it goes, isn’t it.’

  There were elements of this philosophy that chimed with Roma’s own viewpoint, but it sounded odd on another person’s lips. ‘I suppose it is,’ she said. ‘Thank you, anyway. I should pay you for them, by rights. The hive alone is probably worth quite a lot.’

  ‘No, dear. I think I should pay you. You’ve just done me a great service.’

  The drive home was uneventful, although Roma experienced a strong temptation to pick up a youth she passed who was trying to thumb a lift. She imagined telling him, just as he got out of the car, that she had a hive full of bees in the back. When she remembered that she would need someone to help her lift them out of the car, she almost went back for him. But she thought better of it. Justine would have to do it.

  It was not easy to persuade her daughter. Only by letting her wear all the protective clothing did she manage it, first having fussily prepared a stable base for the new hive in a carefully selected position. As soon as it was in place, she sent Justine back into the house to take off the suit and pass it over to Roma. Then she ignited her smoker and embarked on an examination of her new acquisition.

  The colony was in better condition than she’d feared, although not very numerous. There could be a variety of explanations for this: an old queen recently dying and the new one not yet properly into her stride. Varroa was a possibility, of course, although the departed Teddy had presumably treated them the previous autumn. The stop-start spring they’d had, coinciding with Teddy falling ill, might have meant short rations for the bees. All in all, she was pleased. There was still time before winter for them to gain in strength and numbers, with the help of sugar syrup and varroa medication. It was a sturdy, well-maintained hive, too.

  And best of all, she had not given a thought for hours to Penn or the Rentons or even her errant husband.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  As it turned out, the hotel was very difficult to find. The only map of Bournemouth they had was a sketchy one in Drew’s road atlas. ‘East Cliff,’ Maggs kept repeating, as if she could conjure the area merely by saying its name. They eventually noticed a sign to that effect, on a road they were sure they’d already traversed, only to find themselves in a maze of leafy streets, rows of hotels tucked retiringly behind every tree. They drove slowly up and down, reading the name on every entrance, until Drew was furious with Maggs, Bournemouth and the world in general. Taking a turning at random, and then another, they suddenly found it, sitting smugly obvious. ‘Elmcroft Hotel!’ Maggs crowed. ‘Can’t miss it.’

  ‘About bloody time,’ Drew snapped. They’d used Karen’s car, instead of the van, making good time until this last frustrating struggle slowed them down. It was ten forty-five when they pulled up in the street outside and considered what to do next.

  ‘For a start, it’s got two entrances,’ Maggs pointed out. ‘One here and one round the corner. We can’t watch both of them unless we split up. And that means one of us will have to hang about in the street looking conspicuous.’

  ‘So why don’t we just walk in and find her?’

  ‘Maybe we could. Even if she won’t come with us, we can say we’ve seen her.’

  ‘Roma wants us to talk to her. She wants us to take her home with us. We can’t let her run off.’

  ‘So how’s about if I stick out my foot and trip her up, and then you do a flying tackle and pin her to the ground? Then we’ll tie her up and bundle her into the car before she knows what’s hit her.’

  ‘Like she did with Justine, you mean?’

  ‘So you believe her at last?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ He shook his head. ‘But I do know it’s nice to have you paying attention again. I thought for a minute I’d lost you, yesterday.’

  Maggs flushed dark and gave him a quick punch. ‘Don’t tease,’ she ordered. ‘It isn’t nice.’

  ‘Sorry. So we’re going in, are we? Of course, we don’t know she’s here at all. She might be in Aberdeen or Aberystwyth all along.’

  ‘I bet she’s here. I’ve got a feeling.’

  ‘Just don’t trip her up until I give the signal, right?’

  They left the car where it was and walked side by side through the hotel car park and in through the front door. A small reception desk was positioned on the right, immediately inside. There was nobody behind it. Drew gripped Maggs’s elbow and pushed her onwards, towards a collection of open doors at the end of the hall. A cursory inspection revealed a lounge, bar and dining room respectively. Almost without hesitation, Drew steered them into the lounge.

  Three of the deep armchairs were in use, although the room was in silence. Three grey heads could be seen over the tops of newspapers. As the newcomers stood there, wondering what to do next, a copy of the Independent was slowly lowered. Drew met the eyes of the man behind it and the mutual gasp of recognition attracted the notice of the other two residents.

  ‘Laurie Millan,’ Drew exclaimed. ‘My God!’

  With an expression of suppressed exasperation, Laurie folded the paper. ‘I might have know she’d send someone,’ he muttered.

  Maggs was looking from one to the other in bewilderment. ‘Who?’ she hissed at Drew. ‘Who did you say he was?’

  ‘Laurie. Roma’s husband,’ he told her.

  ‘Ah,’ she said, as if this made perfect sense.

  Drew went closer to the armchair, and smiled down at Laurie. ‘Actually, she didn’t say you had to come home,’ he began. ‘In fact, she didn’t …’

  The flurry of another person hurriedly coming into the lounge interrupted him. ‘Laurie …’ it began, in unsuitably ringing tones, attracting exhalations of disapproval from the other loungers. ‘I thought I might …’ She caught sight then of Drew and her jaw dropped. ‘Drew!’ she said faintly.

  ‘Hello, Penn,’ he greeted her. ‘Fancy meeting you here.’

  There was no need for Maggs to employ her tripping-up strategy. Penn sat down composedly in a chair close to Laurie’s and waved Drew and Maggs to complete the circle.

  ‘I assume Roma worked this out,’ she said. ‘I didn’t think she would.’

  ‘Neither did I,’ put in Laurie. ‘I find it strangely pleasing.’

  ‘So what happens now?’ Drew wanted to know. ‘Everybody wants to ask you a lot of questions.’ He addressed Penn almost apologetically.

  ‘I expect they do, but they’ll have to wait a bit. I’m not coming back yet.’

  ‘She’s missing me, is she?’ Laurie asked wistfully. ‘I’m quite ill, you know.’

  Drew examined him closely. He did look drawn and weak. ‘Is it something serious?’

  ‘Oh, yes, quite serious. Roma can’t cope with illness, as you’ve probably realised. It’s a completely taboo subject with her. The pretending gets quite draining after a while. I came away to try and get some strength back for another bout.’

  Drew recalled the conversation he’d had with Roma, less than a month earlier. She’d revealed something then of her feelings on the subject, causing Drew to feel a cocktail of emotions towards her: admiration, pity, protectiveness and a dash of impatience.

  ‘It’s not as if there’s anything the matter with me,’ she’d
laughed weakly. ‘But I know it’ll happen one day and it horrifies me. Really, really horrifies me. I haven’t had a single night for months now where I haven’t woken up and seen death staring me in the face. Stupid, isn’t it. I know why it is, too. It’s because I’ll soon be sixty. Exactly the same thing happened ten years ago. And there isn’t a thing I can do about it, except to find someone like you to talk to. Do you know how rare a character you are, Drew Slocombe? How lucky I am to find you.’

  Drew had held her hand lightly in his, saying little, but conveying his exceptional understanding.

  ‘That’s ridiculous!’ Maggs now protested. ‘What happens when you can’t pretend any more?’

  ‘Who can say?’ Laurie spread his hands.

  ‘I think I can,’ Penn offered. ‘She’ll punish you for it. She’ll get angry and accusing and tell you you’re doing it on purpose. That’s how she was with Justine when Sarah was ill.’

  Everyone waited and Penn had little choice but to elucidate. ‘Justine had a little girl, Sarah, who developed acute myeloid leukaemia when she was only two. The doctors wanted to try a bone marrow transplant, but – well, it didn’t work out.’ Penn looked at the floor for a moment, chewing her lower lip, before continuing. ‘It’s more likely to match if you’re a relative, of course. Roma refused to be tested. She said it was modern medicine gone mad, that it would only prolong the child’s suffering and she would either recover of her own accord, or …’

  ‘Or what?’ Maggs demanded.

  ‘Or everyone should accept the inevitable and let her die in peace. Which is what happened, but not without a lot of terrible fights. Justine blamed her mother for not doing more to help. Roma felt misunderstood. They haven’t spoken since.’

  Maggs narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. ‘Where were you?’ she asked.

  Penn smiled tightly. ‘I was in Poland,’ she said. ‘I only heard about it when I got back, a few months later.’ She swallowed, as if something had stuck, and then changed direction. ‘I gather Justine’s shown up at Pitcombe now?’

  ‘We fear those we hurt,’ Maggs murmured, ignoring the last remark.

  ‘What?’ Drew asked.

  ‘It’s a quote I picked up from somewhere. It seems to fit, don’t you think?’

  ‘It’s very true,’ Laurie confirmed quietly. ‘Roma’s a very fearful person, deep down. She knows she tramples on people’s feelings and then she steers clear of them – as she did with Justine. But the thing she fears most, of course, is death. Not like most people, in that let’s-not-think-about-it sort of way. Real in-your-face terror. I think it’s with her all the time – she can never understand how other people live so easily with it. She wants to force them to share her fear and they won’t.’

  ‘So why not do everything possible to save poor little Sarah from dying?’ Maggs asked.

  Laurie sighed. ‘I wasn’t there, but it’s something about her associated loathing for the medical profession. She thinks they cover their own fear of death by telling lies and giving false assurances. She never thought Justine’s little girl could hope to survive, whatever anybody did.’

  ‘She’s crazy,’ Maggs concluded.

  ‘Not at all. I first met her a few weeks after Sarah died, and she was in an awful state, but she wasn’t crazy then and she isn’t now. Poor Roma,’ he finished sadly.

  Yes, Drew silently agreed. Poor Roma. He watched all three faces, wondering why Roma hadn’t made an opportunity to speak to Laurie as she had spoken to him. Did she know, he wondered, how well her husband understood her?

  ‘Poor Justine, more like,’ Maggs protested.

  Drew patted her arm. ‘Not really,’ he said. ‘The world would have been on Justine’s side. And the child probably would have died anyway, as Roma said. No, I think my sympathies are with Roma. It’s not her fault that she can’t fool herself like practically everyone else manages to do. There’s something terrible about being forced by your own clear-sightedness to confront the unbearableness of death, every single day. You ought to understand that, working with me,’ he added lightly.

  A sniff from Penn alerted them to her distress. ‘Sorry,’ she laughed weakly, dashing a hand across her eyes. ‘It’s been a pretty horrible week and now it’s catching up with me. I’ll have to go to my room for a bit. You’re not rushing home again, are you?’

  ‘Stay for lunch,’ Laurie invited expansively. ‘They do a very good grilled trout here.’

  ‘Yes, do,’ urged Penn. ‘But count me out. I’ll go and have a bit of a lie-down and see you later. After lunch.’

  Drew understood that he wasn’t being given any option, and nodded, keeping an eye on Maggs at the same time. ‘See you down here at about two, then,’ he suggested to Penn.

  Den Cooper wasn’t working that Saturday. He got up late, put a load of clothes in the washing machine and grilled himself some bacon. Then he did what he had wanted to do for days and composed a text message for Maggs.

  Been thinking of u. Free tomorrow? Can talk shop or not as u like. Den

  After all, she had given him her mobile number. She surely must expect that he would use it, despite her coolness on Thursday. He wished he’d been more inventive with his message; it was a weird means of communication that he still hadn’t entirely got the hang of, but it did have advantages over a phone call. If she had changed her mind about him, she could simply ignore the message without having to make excuses. At least he’d tried. With a sigh, he admitted to himself that this didn’t really count for very much.

  For want of anything else to occupy him, his thoughts turned to the strange death of the child at Gladcombe Farm. Late the previous afternoon, a fuller pathology report came through, with blood analysis, description of clothing, and absolutely no signs of defensive wounds (even a small child would fight back, given the chance, it seemed), no petechiæ haemorrhages in the eyes, pupil dilation, lacerations, puncture marks. A long list of negatives, in fact. Only one small item seemed to be of interest: there were three wisps of hay attached to the clothes, and two in her hair. Little Georgia had, perhaps, been playing in one of the farm buildings on the day she died. Time – even date – of death had been impossible to pinpoint accurately, but the Ready Brek in her stomach clearly suggested that she had recently eaten breakfast.

  Den ran through what he knew of the Renton family’s normal routine, as well as what they’d originally told him about the Thursday on which they last saw their daughter. She wasn’t going to her day nursery because Justine was taking her camping. Sheena Renton had left for work at seven forty-five, leaving her husband to give the child breakfast. She claimed to have seen Penn Strabinski driving through the farmyard at that same time. Then Philip had taken Georgia to Justine’s cottage while he got on with some work on his computer. It seemed that from Georgia’s point of view it had been a break from routine in almost every respect.

  Den wished he had asked more probing questions. Where did Georgia think she was going – her Grandma’s or camping with Justine? Did she not talk to her mother about it? But then he remembered that Sheena had freely admitted that she had little time for conversation with her daughter. The change of plan had been effected without consulting her and seemingly without arousing any suspicions.

  Neither parent could adequately describe the clothes the child had been wearing that morning. Philip had thought it was a green thing, a sort of light cotton dress. Sheena had shown no embarrassment in admitting she had no idea.

  ‘She usually just chooses her own clothes,’ she’d shrugged. ‘If it’s completely wrong, I make her change, but it’s usually something OK.’

  Den had made a mental note – promptly forgotten – to ask Bennie whether it was usual for a three-year-old to dress herself.

  There were numerous holes, not just in the story, but in the police investigation as well. It had been slow to get going, slow to take the matter seriously. And then, almost before they could get started, Roma Millan, of all people, had found the body. There were loads of
unasked questions; now probably never to be asked, because to judge from the post-mortem findings, it was never going to be a murder enquiry anyway. Even if Georgia had been dropped out of an upstairs window or killed while riding in a car that stopped too suddenly or placed on the back of a wild pony that had then bucked her off – any number of similar ideas started bubbling up as he let his mind range free – there was never going to be any evidence to prove it. Something and nothing came the phrase again. She hadn’t even been stung by any of those bloody wasps, he sighed impatiently to himself.

  The inquest, of course, was going to demand a lot more detail than a child with a broken neck left in a ditch for a week. Even if it concluded Death by Misadventure, as was perfectly likely, there would have to be a concentrated police investigation to discover just how she got into the ditch and why. And it remained more than possible that this aspect alone would be enough to tip the Coroner over into a verdict of Unlawful Killing. Den sighed. He wanted very much to abandon the whole thing here and now. If Justine Pereira had accidentally killed the child, then she must already have suffered agonies of remorse. If Penn Strabinski had been responsible, Den doubted whether anyone would ever get the truth out of her. Even if a local paedophile had got hold of the kid, she’d died before he could assault her. It didn’t seem worth all the hassle, in Den’s opinion. But then nothing seemed worth the hassle to him at the moment.

  Laurie Millan was inscrutable over the hotel lunch, despite an apparent willingness to fill in some gaps for Drew and Maggs. ‘You’ll be wondering why Penn and I are here together,’ he began. ‘I assure you that the obvious explanation is the wrong one … at least … well, I suppose we are in a sort of alliance against Roma. She’s so … dismissive, you see. She doesn’t listen to any worries or difficulties. So I turned to Penn. And she had been having her own problems, poor girl, which she couldn’t confide to her aunt or mother, so she came to me. I admit I was flattered.’