by Lee Weeks
‘That was Dad’s book, not mine.’
Pascoe pushed a photo across to Towan.
‘This is you and the murdered boy, we got it from his bedroom. It was on his wall.’
Towan stared open-mouthed at the photo.
‘Nothing to say, Towan?’asked Carter.
‘We went round to his house,’ said Pascoe. ‘His mother is beside herself, she said he was a lovely lad. He was a bit of a loner, not many friends. Bit wayward, bit impressionable.’
‘He would have looked up to you, then?’ added Carter.
‘I didn’t kill him. I was called out on fucking Christmas Eve and the old guy, Jeremy, had had a bit of trouble with this lad. Christ, I should never have got involved. It was none of my business.’ Towan threw the photo back across the desk.
‘But then you’d have had nothing to blackmail him with, would you? All the phone calls from the farm, from the hotel. Is that what they were all about? You will never change, Towan.’
‘All I did was help Jeremy. He called me out when he couldn’t resuscitate the boy.’
‘Why didn’t you call for an ambulance when you got there, or call the police?’
He shrugged. ‘The boy was dead, what was the point?’
‘What did Jeremy say happened?’
‘The way he described it was that this lad didn’t fully understand what he was letting himself in for. I don’t really know. I thought it was all agreed between them. I got there and the lad had choked on something too big to swallow, you get what I’m saying? He was dead a while. There was nothing I could do. I helped Jeremy cut him up and we buried him out on the common.’
‘Why blackmail him now?’
‘Covering my options. I took a few photos at the time; I kept the boy’s shorts as insurance, just in case I needed it. I didn’t think he’d top himself.’
Carter shook his head, suddenly exhausted by it all.
‘Interview terminated at ten twenty p.m. on Saturday 8 February 2014. Detective Sergeant Pascoe will now transport the prisoner to the police station in Penhaligon for further questioning. Towan Stokes, you are being charged with the illegal disposal of a dead body. For a start.’ Carter stood and left the room.
Ten minutes later, Pascoe brought Towan out in cuffs. An officer was waiting to escort him away.
Carter ignored Towan’s ranting as he kicked his way out of the station.
He sat at his desk and rang Jeanie.
‘How is Eb?’
‘She will lose a kidney. They say she was lucky, the car seat and the helmet saved her,’ said Jeanie. ‘I’m going to spend the night here.’
‘Okay, ring me if there’s any developments.’
‘Will do.’
Carter locked up the station and Pascoe went up to see how Cam Simmons was doing before driving back to Penhaligon.
At half eleven Jeanie was sitting in the waiting area outside the intensive care ward, when she heard the whoosh of the door and the clip of expensive shoes on linoleum. She looked up to see Carter walking towards her.
He handed her a deli bag from the supermarket.
‘Muffin, but you’re limited for choice round here, so just look grateful, okay?’
She took the bag from him with a smile.
‘So, where am I sleeping?’ asked Carter. ‘I gave up having a drink with Sandford to be here.’
Jeanie pointed to the row of seats opposite.
Epilogue
A week later
‘Where are Lauren and Toby Forbes-Wright now?’ asked Chief Inspector Bowie.
Carter and Jeanie were standing in his office in Fletcher House. It was Saturday morning.
‘They are back here now, sir: Samuel was discharged from hospital after twenty-four hours,’ answered Jeanie.
‘He’s a very lucky lad, and so are we,’ Bowie said. ‘The local police can take over now. Sorry to hear about Raymonds.’
‘Yeah, we had enough to charge him several times over. He would never have seen the light of day. I’m pretty sure he killed his own son, in the end. He’d lost control over everything.’
‘It would have been one hell of a case,’ said Bowie. ‘Imagine heading that?’
‘I’d have loved to do it,’ said Carter.
‘You were robbed.’ Bowie smiled.
‘What about the historical cases against Jeremy Forbes-Wright, sir?’ asked Jeanie.
‘Out of our hands now. That’s a vast investigation of its own and they will take it on under Operation Elmtree. Anyway, I think we should have a celebration. Archway Tavern tonight?’ said Bowie.
‘I’m heading back to Cornwall this morning, sir,’ said Jeanie. ‘I thought I could see Eb and make a weekend of it.’
‘My plan too,’ said Carter. ‘We’re bringing the kids and we’re renting a house down there. Cabrina needs a break after the burglary.’
‘Are you all staying in the one place?’ asked Bowie, unable to hide his amusement.
‘No, we are next door, though. Should be fine. First time for everything.’ Carter smiled, embarrassed.
‘Have a great time and please give Eb my regards. How’s she doing?’
‘Very good, sir,’ answered Jeanie. ‘She’s starting to get fidgety. She wants to get out of there.’
‘How much longer?’
‘Two weeks at least,’ answered Jeanie. ‘Then we better persuade her to take a bit of leave – she’s owed a lot anyway.’
‘Good luck with that,’ said Bowie. ‘Give her this from me.’ He handed Jeanie an envelope.
‘Thanks, sir.’
‘Christ yeah,’ said Carter, ‘we better get a card and take some food in for Eb.’
Outside Bowie’s office, Carter put his hand on Jeanie’s arm.
‘See you down there then, pal.’
‘Check-in is at two,’ said Jeanie.
‘Shall we book somewhere for dinner?’
‘Nope, let’s not get too keen on the group thing, Dan. Let’s give Pete and Cabrina time to say what they want.’
‘Good plan.’
At seven that evening Carter and Jeanie were standing by Ebony’s bedside.
‘Did you bring me any food?’ she asked.
‘We wouldn’t dare turn up here without it.’ Carter began unloading junk food onto the cabinet next to her bed.
Jeanie came round and started moving it.
‘They won’t be able to see the machines for all that. You’ll have to ask them when you want something, Eb.’
‘No, don’t worry, I’ve worked out a system of getting in and out of bed without coming unplugged.’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake!’ Jeanie frowned.
Carter laughed. ‘That’s the spirit, Eb, don’t let the bastards grind you down.’
Carter took out three bottles of Babycham from his bag.
‘Here’s something extra for us to celebrate with.’
‘Dan, what the hell is that?’ Jeanie asked in a whisper.
‘We’re celebrating the fact that Willis still has a kidney. Where’s that card from the boss, Jeanie?’
‘Here.’ Jeanie handed the envelope across to Willis.
Carter took the tops off the Babychams and handed them round.
Willis looked at him.
‘How did you know?’ She grinned.
‘What?’ Jeanie asked.
Willis held up her bottle of Babycham.
‘I’m being promoted.’
‘Detective Sergeant Ebony Willis. Cheers.’ Carter took a drink from his bottle. ‘It has a great ring to it, Eb.’
Acknowledgements
I dedicated this book to Darley Anderson, who I owe so much to. He is so much more to me than my friend and agent. But there isn’t just Darley, there is a team of women behind the scenes who he relies on. I feel very close to them and respect them greatly. They are: Mary, Camila, Emma, Rosanna, Sophie, Andrea and Sheila – thank-you.
This book was a challenge, in many ways, and the help came from many places. So
much gratitude and thanks to Dave Willis; his years as a Detective Inspector on the “Dark Side”, continue to prove invaluable to me. Many thanks go to the Devon Rape Crisis Service for helping me research both historical rape cases and modern procedure. Thanks to Alison from Friends of Brockly Cemetery and to Paul Read, who was a great help. Also thanks to the Cornish Tourist Office for an insight into the mining industry. Big thanks to Becky from Visage, Della from True Colours, Norma and Noreen, my children Ginny and Robert and my sisters Clare and Sue; and to all my family and friends who provide an invaluable sounding-board for my ideas. Lastly, my heartfelt thanks to my editor, Jo Dickinson, and the dedicated team at Simon and Schuster. They continue to press me for the best work I can produce, and I am confident that I have the best team behind me to achieve it.