The Sting of Death

by Rebecca Tope

  ‘I don’t think we do, either. Maggs seems to have taken over the detective aspect of things in the past few days. I’ve been too busy to listen to every detail of what’s been going on.’

  ‘She’s having a romance – that’s what’s going on,’ smiled Karen. ‘It’s very sweet, isn’t it.’

  ‘It would be if I thought he’d be any good for her,’ Drew said sourly. ‘As it is, the chap’s already going through a crisis – trying to start a new relationship at the same time must be asking for trouble.’

  ‘Come on, Drew. Life doesn’t work like that. You don’t settle one dilemma all nice and tidy and then start the next thing. It comes in a great big jumble. Look at us last year – everything happening at once. It goes like that.’

  ‘Yeah, I know,’ he sighed. ‘But I hate to think of Maggs getting caught up in someone else’s mess. She’s always been so direct and clear-sighted about everything.’

  ‘Then she’s probably exactly what he needs,’ said Karen.

  * * *

  Roma couldn’t rid herself of the feeling that everybody but her had begun to accept that there was little more to be said on the subject of the Rentons and Penn. Despite the welter of practicalities to be sorted out between Sheena and Justine and Helen, the horror of Penn’s funeral still had to be faced and the abiding misery surrounding the death of little Georgia. Nobody seemed to be asking questions any more.

  Nobody, that is, except Roma. And because Laurie was so stuck in grief and sickness, she couldn’t address any of them to him. Helen was distraught at the loss of Penn, and Justine had put up the shutters for the foreseeable future. Which only left one person.

  Or so she thought. When a battered white car rumbled its way towards her garden gate, she had to revise her opinion. Here, astonishingly, was another person she might be able to talk to. Someone who had some explaining to do of his own.

  She intercepted him at the gate and steered him back towards his car. ‘Not here,’ she hissed at him. ‘We can’t stay here. Drive back the way you came and we can stop at the Swan. She stared hard at the car. ‘Carlos – it isn’t the same one, is it?’

  He laughed, the same high peal of pleasure she had always enjoyed. ‘No, no, it isn’t the same one, but it’s very like it. That was a good car. I’m glad you remember it.’

  Inside it was filthy, so much so that Roma hesitated before sitting on the muddy seat. ‘What have you been doing in it?’ she demanded.

  He glanced around vaguely. ‘Nothing special.’

  He drove them to the pub and waited for Roma to fetch the drinks, as he’d always done. She felt a pang of unease at the way the years fell off her shoulders, leaving her thirty-five again, with her handsome Spanish husband who was so obviously going to be a rich and famous artist.

  ‘Are you still painting?’ she asked him, carrying the beers back to their table in the garden.

  ‘Off and on,’ he nodded. ‘When I feel like it.’

  ‘Not making any money, I suppose?’

  He grinned, ‘Hardly any.’

  ‘Carlos, why did you hit Philip Renton like that? Haven’t you calmed down at all, in all these years? Are you still as crazy as ever?’

  He rolled his eyes and bared his teeth, ran fingers through his thick black hair. ‘What do you think?’ he growled.

  ‘I think it’s all an act. What did you have against the man?’

  He drooped suddenly. ‘It was Penn,’ he confided. ‘She phoned me and said Justine was in trouble, but I was never to tell anybody that she’d told me about it. Now the poor girl’s been killed, I suppose I can break the secret.’

  ‘When was this?’

  ‘Oh.’ He flapped a hand. ‘A weekend. Last weekend. I mean the one before last. I had to drive down here on a Sunday, with the thousands of stupid trippers and their horrible caravans. I hate this part of England.’

  ‘Yes, I know. You always did. So what did Penn tell you?’

  ‘She told me to go to a derelict house, off the B3151 …’

  ‘You can remember where it was?’ Roma interrupted excitedly.

  ‘Who could forget the B3151?’ he demanded. ‘It’s poetry.’

  ‘All right. So you went. On the Sunday.’

  ‘The car broke down,’ he admitted. ‘And I couldn’t find a garage, so I had to wait until Monday. And then it took them hours to fix it, so it was in fact Tuesday, when I reached the place. But I found it, yes, and it was empty. All the windows downstairs were boarded over, but the clever girl had made a way out upstairs.’

  ‘Carlos, does Justine know that you went there to find her?’

  He shook his head emphatically. ‘Penn told me not to tell anybody. I haven’t really had any words with Justine, even when I came to your house on Friday. You don’t let me stay for long, remember?’

  ‘I didn’t let anybody stay for long. I’d had just about enough by then.’

  ‘Poor Roma. Never mind. You’re very strong – you’ll get over it all.’

  ‘That’s what you said before,’ she remembered. ‘When we got divorced.’

  ‘And I was right. Now you have that sweet old man to keep you company.’

  ‘He’s not so old,’ she said automatically. ‘Only seventy.’

  ‘Of course,’ he agreed. ‘And I am a child of fifty-eight.’

  ‘You’re a witness to Justine’s story,’ she mused. ‘And Penn sent you to rescue her before she could starve to death.’ She eyed him doubtfully. ‘How did she know where to find you?’

  ‘She was Justine’s cousin and her friend!’ he reproached. ‘They came to visit me. She had one of my cards. I give everybody one of my cards. I have hundreds of them printed every year. I am the easiest person in the world to find.’

  Roma laughed weakly. ‘Oh Carlos!’ she said.

  ‘So then,’ he went on, as if the story still had a long way to go, ‘I was worried and angry. What should I do? Was Justine all right? Where had Penn gone to? Should I go home again? I did not have Penn’s telephone number and the stupid Directory person said she wasn’t listed. Of course, I could have mis-spelt her name. It’s much too foreign to be sure how to spell it. But I had the number for Mr Renton, so I called him, and pretended that I knew nothing of what was going on. I asked him if I could speak to Justine. That’s all. And guess what he said to me.’

  Roma shook her head.

  ‘He said Justine was a bloody little criminal, who had kidnapped his baby and was being searched for by the police.’

  ‘Did he know who you were?’

  ‘Oh yes. I said I was her father, planning to come and visit her. He said I should be ashamed of myself for raising such a person. And other things.’

  ‘He knew she hadn’t taken Georgia,’ Roma said in puzzlement. Then her face cleared. ‘His wife must have been listening. It was all an act for her benefit.’

  ‘Anyway, that’s why I smashed his face for him. Nobody says such stuff about my girl. And there was also the matter of the police.’

  ‘Explain.’

  ‘I called Barney, you see …’

  ‘Barney?’

  ‘My lodger. He cleans my house and looks after me, instead of paying rent. He takes messages for me too.’

  Roma was dumbfounded. ‘Carlos, he sounds more like a valet than a lodger. Or a gay lover.’ She fixed him with a probing look.

  ‘Whatever.’ He waved the details away. ‘Barney told me the police had telephoned asking if we knew where Justine might be. So then I knew the Renton man had told his lies to the cops and I had to bash him for it. Simple.’

  ‘You devil,’ she said, unable to conceal the admiration. ‘Now they think you’re a loony, loose on the community.’

  ‘Mostly I am just a loony,’ he admitted regretfully. ‘A sad and harmless loony.’

  ‘But they let you go, in spite of the bashing,’ she noted. ‘Have you got to face charges? Is there a court case coming up?’

  He gave her a superior look. ‘Roma, I am told by your s
ister that Mr Renton is Penn’s killer. I hardly think he’s going to prosecute me now, is he?’

  ‘Probably not,’ she sighed. ‘You were always a lucky bugger.’

  Somehow, she realised, the conversation had been hijacked from the outset, and she was not going to find an opportunity to explore the areas of the story which remained stubbornly grey.

  ‘Carlos – why did you come to see me?’

  ‘Just for old time’s sake,’ he smiled. ‘And because I think we are forever tied together, through our girl, and the little grand-daughter …’ His eyes filled, without warning, and Roma, to her horror, felt hers do the same. Blindly, each reached for the other’s hand. ‘That little girl should have been spared to grow up and make us all happy.’

  ‘She’d be eight tomorrow,’ Roma whispered. ‘I’ve been trying so hard not to remember the date, but it’s cut into my heart forever.’

  ‘And Justine’s too,’ he said.

  ‘And Justine’s too,’ she agreed.

  Maggs gave Drew a full day before she confronted him. ‘You and Den had drinks together, didn’t you? On Saturday night? Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘It had nothing to do with you,’ he defended hotly.

  ‘Well it has now, because he told me all about it. How he’s thinking of quitting the police and wants something else to do.’

  ‘So? Why are you so cross about it?’

  ‘Because you should have said something. We have to find him another job. And I was wondering …’ her glance strayed to the burial ground. Drew got her meaning instantly.

  ‘No! Don’t be silly. There isn’t anywhere near enough work. You know there isn’t. And …’

  ‘You don’t like him,’ she finished sadly. ‘It’s

  all right. You can say it.’

  ‘I do like him, Maggs. He’s a great chap. But not many people want to work as an undertaker. Have you suggested it to him? Don’t pretend it was his idea.’

  She shook her head. ‘No. I wanted to run it past you first.’

  ‘Well it’s daft. Believe me. He’d be the first to agree.’

  ‘Maybe,’ she said grudgingly. ‘But he’s got to find something. He’s really had it with the police, you know.’

  ‘I know,’ Drew nodded.

  Detective Inspector Hemsley was packing up whatever notes he had concerning Mr and Mrs Renton, to dispatch to the Superintendent of the Devon Constabulary. There were very few loose ends remaining, as far as he could see, as far as the facts were concerned. It should never have been a matter for the Okehampton police anyway. He had been both appalled and entertained by the extraordinary story of the undertaker’s assistant and the video camera, hearing it from top to bottom in Exeter.

  He paused, and re-read his words. Would they ever know the full truth, he wondered. Even if Renton recovered his wits, as he was already showing signs of doing, there was no guarantee that he would ever disclose his true motives and intentions. According to the officer watching over him in hospital, all his talk was of cows and sheep and pigs and the stink of their rotting bodies.

  Hemsley, like Cooper, could never forget the ravages of the foot and mouth outbreak, sweeping like a modern pestilence through people’s lives, shaking all their certainties and filling their souls with such shame that many found it beyond bearing. The balance of Renton’s mind was surely impaired beyond complete recovery as a result of the horrors he had witnessed.

  No wonder, he thought, in a moment of terrible desolation, no wonder Cooper wants to get the hell out of this.

  Den could feel the ground tilting beneath his feet, tipping him out of his secure rut as surely as if he’d stepped onto a ski slope without knowing how to stop. After years of unquestioning identity as a policeman, he was now actively trying to change. Despite all the wise advice of centuries – always run to something, never away – he was going to escape into a void. He had no debts, even some modest savings; he was ready, even anxious, to sell his flat, which would bring in a little bit of positive equity. He had his health and the backing of an unbelievably good woman. It might be a void, but it was a rose-tinted one.

  But first, for his own peace of mind, he had to tidy up one or two loose ends. He had to go and visit Roma Millan.

  She came to the door carrying a small white plastic bucket with a close-fitting lid. ‘Oh, sorry!’ she exclaimed. ‘I was just going to feed my new bees.’

  ‘Don’t let me interrupt,’ he said easily. ‘I’ll come with you, shall I?’

  ‘If you like. You’re not scared of them, then?’

  ‘Should I be?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  They walked across the field behind Roma’s house, Den suddenly apprehending how similar the layout was to Drew Slocombe’s property. There seemed to be some hidden but promising message in this.

  ‘We’ll be releasing your niece’s body today,’ he said. ‘Her mother will be wanting to arrange the funeral.’

  ‘I’m not sure wanting is quite the right word, but yes, it’ll have to be done. Poor Penn. She was a lovely girl, you know. I don’t think we’ll ever understand what went wrong.’

  ‘Mr Inspector believes that Mr Renton has been mentally ill ever since the foot and mouth outbreak. It led to the loss of all the stock and his father’s suicide.’

  ‘That doesn’t explain anything, really, though. Does it?’

  ‘I don’t know. I think perhaps it does. He must have had a big influence over Penn. Women fall for damaged men – have you noticed? It seems to be in their nature.’

  ‘Even me,’ said Roma in a low voice. ‘Though I’d never have put it quite like that.’

  ‘I had a girlfriend,’ he confided. ‘We were going to get married. Then she left me for a farmer. It was as if he hypnotised her. It all came apart after a little while and we had another try, but it never really worked again.’ He sighed. ‘I still dream about her sometimes. How it all might have been.’

  ‘But I think Renton still loves his wife,’ Roma mused. ‘Justine says so, anyway. It makes Penn seem terribly irrelevant, somehow. As if she died for nothing.’

  ‘Everybody dies for nothing,’ Den said angrily. ‘How can it ever be for something?’

  ‘People think it is, though, don’t they? Suicide bombers; somebody saving another person; making a political point.’ They’d reached the apiary and Roma handed him the tub of sugar syrup. Then she slowly lifted the lid of the new hive and peered in. Evidently all was well. Taking the feeder from Den, she suddenly turned it upside down. Slow drips of syrup fell through the nylon mesh in the centre of the lid. Quickly she popped it inside the hive and replaced the roof. Den continued their talk as she stepped away from the hive.

  ‘They’re fooling themselves,’ he said.

  ‘You’re right,’ she agreed. ‘Tell me, why did you come here today?’

  He rubbed his long cheek thoughtfully. ‘It sounds daft, I suppose, but I’ve had the feeling all along that this business has really been about you. I wanted to see if I could work out how.’

  She turned a stricken face up to him. ‘Surely not?’ she breathed.

  He laid a hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently. ‘I didn’t mean it to sound like that. I was just tracing back the connections and that’s the way it seemed. But I don’t know it all – not by a long way. And I’m not talking about blame, either. After all, hardly anybody sets out to do deliberate harm.’

  ‘Don’t they? Is that what you believe?’ she asked him.

  ‘Don’t you?’

  She told him, then, about little Sarah and her own implacable stand. About Justine’s breakdown and her, Roma’s, inability to face her daughter again after such hurt. ‘So is that where it all began?’ she asked him. ‘Is that why Penn died? I feel bad, but not quite that bad. I really can’t see how it could be so.’

  ‘Only if Penn did deliberately kill little Georgia,’ he said. ‘And why would she do that?’

  ‘You’ve lost me,’ she frowned.

  ‘P
enn remains a mystery. Even if Renton recovers enough to tell us everything, we probably still won’t understand her. How did she really feel towards Justine? And you? Was she simply manipulating everybody, or was she in thrall to Renton and doing what he told her?’

  ‘We’ve got visitors,’ she noticed. Three people were coming out of the french windows at the back of the house, waving towards her. Roma put a hand to her throat.

  There were two men and a woman. The latter had honey-coloured hair and a broad face. ‘My God!’ breathed Roma. Surely it was Penn, returned from the dead?

  ‘That’s Mrs Slocombe,’ Den murmured. ‘With your husband and Drew.’

  ‘She looks just like Penn,’ Roma said weakly. ‘It’s like seeing a ghost.’

  They sat together, the five of them, on the patio. Laurie fetched cold drinks and Pringles. The air was heavy with imminent thunder. Drew and Karen explained they’d left their children playing with Jane-in-the-village, who had twins and was always a popular change of scene. Roma and Den said little, feeling a sense of interruption.

  ‘Having a party?’ came a cold little voice from the living room. Justine stood inside the french windows, looking out at the scene.

  ‘Join us,’ Laurie waved an arm like a traffic policeman, trying to usher her out. Slowly she obeyed.

  Drew, as always uneasy in a prickly atmosphere, tried to dispel the gloom. ‘Karen wanted to meet Roma,’ he said. ‘And Laurie, of course. So we decided to drop in. Never dreamt we’d find Cooper here,’ he laughed.

  ‘It’s a long time since I last saw Karen,’ Justine said slowly. ‘Not that there’s any reason why we should see each other. It’s not as if we’re related.’ She examined Karen for a long moment. ‘You look like Penn,’ she said. ‘Doesn’t she, Mother?’

  ‘I thought I’d seen a ghost just now,’ Roma admitted shakily.

  ‘Yes,’ Justine nodded. ‘So did I. Horrible.’ She shuddered.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Karen, trying not to sound huffy.