THE BEEKEEPER a gripping crime mystery with a dark twist

by Stewart Giles

  “Harriet?” Killian was leaning over her. He never used her first name.

  “I’m all right,” she said, “I think the shock of seeing that body is catching up with me.”

  She knew this wasn’t true. The sight of the severed torso had hardly troubled her. The numbness was the after-effect of the combination of an entire bottle of wine and the sleeping tablets. Taylor promised herself never to mix the two again.

  “Help me up.” She reached her hand out to Killian. The DI pulled her to her feet, but he still looked extremely concerned.

  “I’m fine,” Taylor insisted. “We’ve got work to do.”

  On the way back to the station, Taylor gazed out of the window and thought about the body. She could not think of a plausible explanation as to why he’d ended up in a fishing boat’s nets. It didn’t make any sense.

  “How do you think he ended up in the sea?” Killian asked. He was clearly thinking the same thing.

  “I can’t imagine. Do you think we’ll be able to find out who he is?”

  “That depends. The pathology guys will be able to tell roughly when he died. If he was in the water for some time, it’ll be a bit harder to get a precise time of death though.”

  “Somebody must know who he is. Surely somebody will be missing him.”

  “Not necessarily.”

  “What about missing persons?”

  “We don’t even know if he’s from around here. It’ll take forever to check the database for the whole country and if he’s a foreigner, it’ll be almost impossible to find out who he is.”

  “First an old lady gets pushed over the cliff in her car and then an old man ends up in the nets of a fishing boat. Do you think the two are connected?”

  “Not at the moment. As far as I’m concerned, it’s just a coincidence.” He turned the car right and headed inland.

  “Where are you going? The station’s in the other direction.”

  “Slight change of plan. I’m getting tired of twiddling my thumbs waiting to see what forensics can come up with. Those guys tend to work much quicker when they have someone breathing down their necks. I want to know if our friend Peter Sugden can be linked in any way to Milly Lancaster’s car.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Alice carefully removed the frame from the hive and examined it closely. She’d made sure to wear gloves this time. When she’d first started beekeeping, she used to wear a full protective suit and hood, but over time she’d realised that her nice Italian bees made this unnecessary. Also the bees got used to you, in a way. But the bees had hardly produced any honey since the last time she’d checked. She couldn’t understand what the problem was, after they’d been performing so beautifully for the past month. She shrugged and slid the frame back into position.

  Maybe I need to buy more hives.

  She looked around the garden. There was plenty of space for a few more hives and she could always plant some more hollyhock bushes. The bees seemed to like the hollyhocks best.

  Alice made a cup of tea and sat down at the kitchen table. There was a letter she needed to write. Stanley had a sister, Rita, in Canada who Alice wrote to every month. Rita had tried to persuade Alice to buy a computer and get Skype, but Alice wasn’t going to start messing with things like that at her age.

  There was a lot of news this month. Alice began with the tragic death of her old friend Milly. She explained that the police didn’t know what had happened but that she was sure they would get to the bottom of it. She didn’t mention Stanley’s demise.

  She looked in the kitchen drawer for a stamp and remembered she’d used the last one on the previous letter. She sighed and picked up her handbag. She would have to go to the village post office.

  The sun on her face made her smile. June was definitely the best time of the year in Cornwall. She walked past where Milly used to park her car and intense sadness hit her. Milly had been her only real friend and she was gone.

  A police car was parked outside Peter Sugden’s house. Alice had never liked Sugden. And he’d been after Milly. Nasty piece of work.

  The police car was still there as she came back from the post office. Alice slowed down and tried to peer into Sugden’s house. She could see two policemen in uniform. They were opening cupboards and drawers in the living room, looking for something. She looked at her watch. Half past twelve.

  She went into the Old Boar. “Small port, love,” she said to the young barman and took it to the window, where she could get a good view of Peter Sugden’s house. After a few minutes, the two policemen came out with Sugden. He didn’t look pleased at all. Alice watched as he locked his front door and got in the back of the police car.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Taylor, Killian and DS Duncan sat in the station canteen. Peter Sugden was in one of the holding cells next to the interview rooms. They were waiting for Sugden’s solicitor to arrive from Plymouth. The forensics people had stumbled upon something interesting, though more by chance than anything else.

  Inside the lock on the passenger side of Milly Lancaster’s car, they had found some small slivers of a different metal: a mix of nickel and chromium. Alan Littlemore, the head of forensics, was of the opinion that the metal came from some kind of tool — a screwdriver maybe — which had been used to jam the lock. PCs White and White had been granted permission to search Peter Sugden’s house and Eric White had discovered a screwdriver made of the same metal in the wheelie bin in his back garden. It was still in working order, apart from some slight wear on the tip, and it was now in the hands of the forensics department.

  “Looks like we’ve got the bastard.” Duncan looked smug. “I’ve known old Sugden for years. I knew there was something not quite right about him.”

  “Don’t get too excited,” Killian said, “let’s see what forensics have to say first. It may be a different screwdriver.”

  “Come on, Jack, there was bugger-all wrong with it. Why would he throw it away unless he wanted rid of the evidence? It was an expensive one, too. No, Sugden’s our man.”

  “I still don’t see the motive,” Taylor said. “Sugden’s a bit odd, but that doesn’t make him a killer. We need more proof, not just some chucked-out tool. When is his solicitor getting here?”

  “He’ll be an hour or so,” Killian told her. “He’s still in court.”

  “He can take his time,” said Duncan. “Let Sugden stew in the cell for a bit. It’ll do us good. Who’s he got?”

  “Justin Stanford. I’ve never met him.”

  “I have,” Duncan said. “Real smarmy git. Makes a living getting scumbags off the hook.”

  Thomas White walked in. “Sorry to disturb you sir,” he said to Killian, “but I thought you’d want to know that forensics have matched the metal found in the car lock to the screwdriver.”

  “Are they a hundred percent sure?”

  “Do you want to ask Littlemore if he’s a hundred percent sure?”

  “That’s that, then.” Killian stood up. “In the years I’ve known Littlemore, the man has never been wrong about anything in his field. Let’s get a cup of coffee while we wait for Sugden’s solicitor. I’ve a feeling we’re in for a rough few days.”

  Taylor gazed out of the window. She could just make out the blue of the Atlantic in the distance. She sipped another cup of peppermint tea. Her stomach felt much better now and the dizziness was gone.

  “I want to talk to that scumbag.” Duncan slurped a mouthful of coffee. “You and me. Jack. It’ll be just like the old days.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that,” Killian said. “Taylor and I did the initial interview, and it went quite well. I think it would be better if she interviewed Sugden with me. For the sake of consistency, I mean.”

  “Seriously, Jack? Her?” Duncan glared at Taylor. “What does she know about interrogating a murderer?”

  “Suspected murderer. And she’s more than up to the job.” Killian smiled at her. “Try not to be so aggressive this time, though,” h
e added. “Sugden’s solicitor will cut you down in an instant.”

  “I can do nice,” Taylor said. “I’ll just follow your lead and watch Sugden like a hawk. How d’you want to play it?”

  “This is nonsense,” Duncan said. “I’m the experienced one here.” He kicked his chair for effect and walked out of the canteen.

  “Ignore him,” Killian told her. “It’s just sour grapes. Anyway, to answer your question, I’m not sure. I’m still not sure about him either.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I can’t figure out why he’d want to kill Milly Lancaster. It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “What about the evidence?”

  “We don’t have enough yet. And there’s no inkling of a motive.”

  “Crime of passion?” she suggested.

  “Maybe.” Killian sounded unconvinced.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Peter Sugden’s solicitor arrived two hours later. After a brief consultation with his client in the holding cell, he, Sugden, Killian and Taylor gathered in interview room two. Killian turned on the recording device.

  “Interview with Peter Sugden,” he said, “Present, DI Killian, DC Taylor and Justin Stanford.”

  “Detective Inspector,” Stanford broke in, “before we begin, I have to inform you I have instructed my client not to say anything.”

  “I thought you might.”

  “My client claims he knows nothing about what he is being accused of, and to be honest, I find these allegations absurd. Mr Sugden has never been in trouble with the law before and I suggest you rethink the consequences of this outrageous charge.”

  “I’d say that’s all the more reason for your client to talk to us, so we can eliminate him from our enquiries.”

  “Detective, I’m sure you’re aware of the law. There’s a little part of it about being innocent until proven guilty.”

  The smug smile on Stanford’s face was making Taylor’s blood boil. She took a deep breath.

  “Mr Stanford,” Killian said, “whether your client is innocent or guilty is neither here nor there at the moment. We have enough evidence to charge him and whether he decides to speak to us or not, we have the power to hold him for forty-eight hours.”

  “Is that right?” Sugden suddenly found his tongue. “Can they lock me up for two days?”

  “You don’t have to say anything,” Stanford told him.

  “I haven’t done anything. I want to go home.”

  “Mr Sugden,” Stanford said, “I know what I’m doing. You have the right not to say anything, and I advise you strongly to make full use of that right.” He took out his phone and looked at the screen.

  “I didn’t kill Milly Lancaster,” Sugden said. “I liked Milly. Why would I want to kill her?”

  “That’s not what you said the last time we spoke,” Taylor reminded him. “I think the exact words you used were ‘stuck-up cow.’”

  “That doesn’t mean I wanted to kill her.”

  “OK,” Killian said, “now we’re all on the same page, how do you explain the screwdriver we found in your wheelie bin?”

  “I don’t know. It’s not mine. Anybody could have put it in there.”

  “Why would anybody do that?” Taylor said.

  “I don’t know. I can’t believe this is happening,” Sugden protested.

  “Are you saying somebody crept into your back garden and dumped the screwdriver in the wheelie bin?”

  “Constable,” Stanford shook his head, “please stop putting words in my client’s mouth.”

  “I’m not putting words in his mouth. It was a simple question.”

  “OK.” Killian took charge. “A while ago you made certain advances towards Mrs Lancaster. She turned you down. You also claimed that you were in the Old Boar last Friday night. We have a witness, a man who knows you very well, in fact, and he’s positive you weren’t in the pub that night.”

  “Who’s that, then?”

  “And now we find a screwdriver in your bin. A screwdriver that can be linked to the locks on Milly Lancaster’s car door. How do you explain all of this, Mr Sugden? There are far too many coincidences here.”

  “I don’t know.” Sugden looked like he was going to burst into tears. “I didn’t kill her. I didn’t kill Milly.”

  “I suggest we take a short break,” Stanford broke in. “I need to speak with my client in private.”

  “I’m not finished yet,” Killian replied. “Why did you lie about being in the pub last Friday?”

  “I was scared. I panicked.”

  “That’s enough,” Stanford said.

  “Go on,” Taylor said.

  “When you lot came around, I got scared. I didn’t think anybody would remember me not being in the pub. I didn’t expect all this to happen.”

  “What else have you lied about?” Taylor said.

  “That’s enough,” Stanford repeated. “A short break is in order and if you persist in badgering my client, there’ll be hell to pay.”

  Taylor looked to Killian for support. He sighed and gave a slight shake of his head. “I think we’re done here anyway,” he announced. “Interview with Peter Sugden concluded.”

  “I’m sorry,” Taylor said to Killian after Sugden and his solicitor had left the room.

  “Don’t be. That went better than I expected.”

  “I wasn’t too aggressive?”

  “Why do you think I chose you over Duncan? No, you did well back there. We’ve got Sugden crapping in his pants, if you’ll excuse my language. They tend to slip up more when they’ve been shaken a bit.”

  “Do you think he did it?”

  “I think we need to do a bit of digging around in Peter Sugden’s life. Let’s see what kind of skeletons we find.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Harriet Taylor knocked on the door and waited. DI Killian had been called away on a family emergency. His wife had been rushed to hospital, he told her before dashing out to the car park.

  Alice Green opened the door. “Hello, my dear,” she said, smiling, “come in. I’ve just made a fresh pot of tea.” Taylor followed her inside.

  “Hello,” the jackdaw squawked, “hello.”

  “How many words does he know?” Taylor asked.

  “Too many. I have to be careful what I say in front of him. Would you like some tea? And a piece of bread and honey? I’m still a little concerned about it, but really I’m sure it’s fine.” Alice poured two cups of tea from an old teapot and opened a jar. “You need more flesh on your bones. Is this about Milly? Have you found something?”

  “We still haven’t found her body, but we have arrested somebody in connection with Milly’s disappearance. That’s why I’m here. We’re speaking to everybody who knows Peter Sugden.”

  “You’ve arrested Sugden?” Alice took a sip of tea and grinned.

  “I can’t go into the details, but a number of things point in his direction. Too many for us to ignore, I’m afraid. I know you don’t particularly like the man, but what else can you tell us about him?”

  “He’s slightly odd,” Alice said. “I mean, there’s something definitely not quite right about him, if you know what I mean.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t.”

  “It’s as if he carries this presence around with him, like a negative aura. It’s hard to define. Most people don’t feel it, but I’ve seen dogs growl at him for no reason. Children cross the street when they see him coming.”

  “I see.” Taylor nibbled a piece of bread and honey. It tasted fine to her.

  “You say you have some evidence? Some things that point in his direction?”

  “Like I said, I’m not at liberty to discuss that. Evidence is all very well but what we can’t seem to fathom out is why anybody would want to kill Milly in the first place. It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “I can’t understand it either. Milly never did any harm to anyone and she tolerated Sugden’s hassling more than most would. If it had been me he was
following around like a lost puppy, he’d have ended up regretting it, I can tell you that much.”

  Taylor looked out of the window onto the garden. The bees were flying back and forth to their hives.

  “Can I ask you something?” Alice said.

  “Of course.” She hoped it wasn’t about the honey again.

  “Don’t you get lonely? A young girl like you, all on your own.”

  “Not at all. I like my own company. Anyway, you’re a fine one to talk. You live on your own.”

  “That’s different. I’m old. It’s natural for an old woman to be on her own. At least that’s one thing nature got right — it’s always the men who die first. You were married once, weren’t you?”

  “How do you know that?” Taylor was shocked.

  “You used to wear a wedding ring — until quite recently, if I’m not mistaken. You can still see where it used to be.”

  Taylor looked at her ring finger. Alice was right. There was a slight white stripe where the wedding ring had been.

  “You should be a detective,” she said.

  “You tend to become more observant as you get older. You’re a bit more worldly-wise. What happened? With your husband, I mean.”

  “He died.” The words startled her. She had hardly spoken about her husband since her arrival in Cornwall.

  “I’m sorry,” Alice said. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

  “It was a car crash last November. He was killed instantly.” It was curiously easy to talk to the old beekeeper.

  “You poor thing. And that’s why you came here? To get away from everything?”

  “Yes.”

  “There’s more to it than that, isn’t there?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Isn’t it always, where men are concerned? Did you know that Milly carried on wearing her wedding ring long after her husband passed away? It’s probably something you youngsters wouldn’t understand. Marriage was sacred in those days.”

  “He wasn’t alone in the car.” Taylor was starting to get angry. “There was a woman with him. Danny worked for a property developer in the city. The woman was a client of his. And if you believe that they just happened to be checking out a place that late at night, you’ll believe anything.”