Fire and water, Taylor thought. What the hell is going on here?
“If you don’t mind, I have an appointment in half an hour. I’ll have the reports sent over when I’ve finished them.”
“Thank you,” Taylor said. “Thank you for making things even more complicated than they already were.”
“Always a pleasure.” Finch offered his hand. “I’m not usually this forward,” he added, “but if you should need any more information, I’d be happy to discuss it over a drink or two.”
He took out a card and handed it to Taylor.
“My mobile number’s on the back,” he said, “should you decide to take that risk. I’m quite harmless.”
“I’ll give it some serious consideration,” she replied.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
“Murder?” Killian sank his head in his hands. “Are you saying Dennis Albarn and the man found in the fishing nets were both murdered? Are you sure?”
“Positive. Dr Finch is very thorough,” Taylor said.
“What else did he give you?”
“The man the fisherman found had been dead for almost a week when he was thrown into the sea, and Albarn had no smoke in his lungs. He was dead before the explosion.”
“What the hell is going on around here? First it’s Milly Lancaster and now these two. We’re going to be working around the clock from now on. Who else knows about this?”
“Just Dr Finch.”
“Let’s keep it that way for the time being. Once the press get hold of it, and they will, all hell is going to break loose. I need time to think things through before the hoards start phoning in, demanding to know what’s going on.”
“Do you think the three murders are connected?”
“I have no idea. What can possibly link them together?”
“Fire and water. And possibly air. Milly Lancaster’s car flew through the air before she hit the rocks below Merryhead.”
“What on earth are you talking about?”
“Just thinking out loud,” Taylor said. “Earth, fire, water and air. The four elements, in all kinds of different belief systems.”
“Are you suggesting there’s some maniac out there killing people and disposing of the bodies in ways corresponding to these elements? In Cornwall?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know what to think. And frankly, Cornwall’s probably more likely than Scotland.”
“We may have our share of alternative types but they’re mostly tree-huggers, not murderers. What else do we know about these three?”
“They were roughly the same age. And Milly Lancaster and Dennis Albarn knew each other.”
“Everybody knows everybody else around here. It’s a small community.”
“Do we know anything more about the man found in the fishing nets?” Taylor felt it was her turn to start asking questions.
“No positive ID as yet. It’s still a mystery.”
“What about dental records, like Albarn?”
“Dental records only work when we’ve got something to compare those records to. We had a pretty good idea it was Albarn already. The only thing I can think of is to get a team together and start trawling through missing persons. See if anybody matching the man’s age and appearance has been reported missing in the last few weeks.”
“That’ll take forever. We once spent two weeks on it in my last team, and we still drew a blank.”
“Well, we’ll have to start the process. Do you have any better suggestions?”
“Actually, I do. I saw the face. It’s bloated and discoloured, but you can vaguely make out the features. I reckon a good police artist can give us an idea what the poor man looked like before he died. Then we get that image out as widely as we can.”
”That’s a very good idea — but we can’t say we’re looking for the ID of a man who was murdered, cut in half and dumped in the sea. We’d have panic on our hands.”
“Shark attack, of course. Everybody still thinks it was a shark. We’ll let them keep thinking that for the time being. We’re looking for the ID of the victim of a tragic shark attack.”
“And I know just the artist.” Killian took out his phone. “Kathy Bradfield’s talents are legendary.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Eddie Sedgwick was a man of habit. He put it down to his days in the air force. He enjoyed routine. At seven on the dot, he opened his eyes, looked at Barbara on the single bed next to his and got out of bed. He went to the toilet and went to the kitchen to make some coffee. He scowled when he saw the newspaper wasn’t yet on the mat by the front door.
“Bloody paperboys,” Eddie said, “they keeping getting worse and worse.”
He opened the door to the back garden and breathed in the cool morning air. The click of the kettle told him it had boiled. On the way back, he picked up the red pen attached to the calendar with a piece of string and crossed out the previous day’s date.
“Another one bites the dust.”
Eddie had been crossing off days for as long as he could remember. Barbara had said he was like a man waiting to die, counting the time he had left, but Eddie insisted it was the opposite. He was celebrating the days he had lived.
He made coffee and took it through to the conservatory. A pleasant breeze blew in through the open door. Alice Green’s hollyhocks had always smelled sweeter than his. Eddie still did not know her secret and Alice would never tell him.
Eddie was lost without his morning newspaper. The first coffee of the day with an unread newspaper to take his time over was one of his greatest pleasures. He thought about phoning the newsagent to complain that the paper was being delivered later and later. Soon his wife would wake up and his solitude would be ruined. Barbara always had to talk while he was reading the newspaper.
The familiar sound of the Trotterdown Echo landing on the mat spurred Eddie into action. He made another cup of coffee and took both it and the paper to the conservatory.
The front page was mostly taken up by a massive photo of Dennis Albarn’s house after the explosion. There was not much left of it. The words ‘deadly inferno’ were written in bold black letters above the photo.
Poor man, Eddie thought. He had never had much time for Dennis Albarn when he was alive but Eddie still thought it was a horrible way to die. He read the article and was slightly disappointed by the lack of details. Eddie already knew most of it anyway, thanks to the local gossipmongers who’d been working nonstop since the blaze. He gave up and turned the page.
He spat coffee all over his pyjama jacket at the sight of the picture on page three. “Barbara,” he shouted to his wife, “come and look at this.” He could hear her slowly getting out of bed. “Quick. Look.” She shuffled in and he thrust the paper at her. “Who does that remind you of?”
“That’s Stanley. Stanley Green. What’s he done?”
“He’s dead. He was the one they found in the fishing nets. The one who was attacked by the shark.”
“Oh my.” Barbara sat down. “I wonder if Alice knows about it yet.”
“If she’s read the paper, she knows,” Eddie said. “That’s Stanley Green all right, no doubt about it.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
By eight that morning, the switchboard at the Trotterdown police station had already received over one hundred calls. Half of them had mentioned Stanley Green’s name. Ten percent would have been good enough. Taylor’s idea had worked. Kathy Bradfield had outdone herself with the drawing. Quite a few of the people who had phoned in had commented that the likeness to Stanley Green was uncanny.
“Poor Alice.” Taylor sat in the canteen staring at the picture in the newspaper.
“I remember Stanley Green,” Killian said. “Bit of a wide boy, if my memory serves me right.”
“I thought you said his fingerprints weren’t on our system?”
“That’s because he never got caught. No, he and Dennis Albarn were up to all kinds of things in their day.”
“And now they’re both
dead.” Taylor could not help staring at Stanley Green’s face. His features were handsome in an old-fashioned, rugged kind of way. He bore a slight resemblance to her Danny. She could see why Alice had fallen for him in the first place. “I ought to go and see Alice,” she said. “She must be in a right state.”
“She’ll know by now. Like I said yesterday, this is a small community. I’ll send one of the Whites round to talk to her.”
“I’d rather go myself.”
“What’s with you and the old beekeeper?”
“I don’t know. She’s nice. Easy to talk to. She makes a lot of sense. I think it best if I go and see her. She trusts me. Besides, both Eric and Thomas White can be a bit insensitive at times.”
“Well, make it snappy. Our workload’s going to be bad enough as it is. Three elderly people murdered in Polgarrow in the space of a week. The press are going to cotton on to it, soon enough. It’s only a matter of time before they start asking questions.”
“I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
*
Taylor was halfway to Polgarrow when she suddenly remembered something Alice Green had said the day before. She’d said he had phoned on Wednesday night wanting to meet up. But Stanley had been dead for almost a week by then.
What’s happening around here? She stopped and dialled Killian’s number.
“Sir,” she said, “there’s something that’s bothering me.”
“Go on,” Killian said.
“Alice told me yesterday that her husband phoned her on Wednesday and asked if they could meet up. It couldn’t have been Stanley. He was already dead.”
“Ask her about it. Ask her if it could have been somebody pretending to be Stanley.”
“There’s something else. We were trying to work out the connection between the three dead people.”
“You’re not talking about this earth wind and fire stuff again, are you?”
“Dennis Albarn was Stanley Green’s best man.”
“OK,” Killian said.
“Milly Lancaster was Alice’s maid of honour. There were only four of them at the wedding and now Alice is the only one left.”
“How do you know all of this?”
“I listen.”
“Bring her in.” Killian sounded serious.
“What for? Surely you don’t think she’s got something to do with all of this?”
“Of course not. I want you to bring her in for her own protection. Three of the wedding party are dead. Alice Green received a phone call from someone pretending to be her husband, asking if they could meet up. I think it was a trap.”
“This isn’t good.” Taylor carefully moved back onto the road. “Why would someone want to kill three people who were at a wedding forty years ago?”
“Let’s see what your beekeeper friend has to say, shall we?” Killian said.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Taylor handed Alice Green a mug of hot tea from the station canteen. “How are you feeling?”
“Numb.” Alice gripped the mug with both hands. “Stanley was a piece of work but he didn’t deserve this. Are you sure it was him?”
“Almost positive.”
“Would it be possible for me to see him?’
“I don’t think that would be a good idea. He’s been dead for almost a week. I’d rather you didn’t see him like that.”
“What on earth happened? They’re saying it was a shark attack. What was Stanley doing in the sea in the first place?”
“We don’t know that yet.”
“I know this is difficult,” Killian joined in, “but can you think of anyone who may have wanted to hurt your husband?”
“Plenty,” Alice said, without pausing to think. “Stanley trod on a lot of toes over the years.”
“Enough to make someone want to kill him?”
“I don’t know. It still hasn’t sunk in. First Milly and now Stanley.”
“And Dennis Albarn,” Killian reminded her. “All three of them were at your wedding forty years ago.”
“I hadn’t thought about it like that.” Alice looked pensive.
“The phone call you received on Wednesday night,” Killian said, “you said it was Stanley. Are you sure?”
“It sounded a bit like him. I haven’t heard from him in a long time, though. And the line was bad and I have to admit I’d had a few glasses of port. I was ready for bed, I think.”
“What exactly did he say?”
“He said he wanted to talk. Suggested we meet up.”
“Where did he want to meet?” Taylor said.
“In Trotterdown. He said that there were too many prying eyes in Polgarrow.”
“But you said no?”
“Yes, I told him to bugger off. After all these years. I thought he had a nerve.”
“It’s good you said no,” Killian said. “I’m afraid the man who phoned you wasn’t your husband. It looks like it was some kind of trap to get you away. Stanley was already dead by then.”
“Did he phone you on your mobile?” Taylor asked.
Alice nodded.
“Then the number will still be on the phone.”
“I’m afraid I deleted it. I was so angry I wanted to remove all traces of him. How dare he come back after all this time and think he could just start where he left off? I’m sorry, I suppose I shouldn’t have done that.”
“It’s all right,” Taylor told her. “I probably would’ve done the same thing.”
“Who do you think it was?”
“We don’t know,” said Killian, “and I don’t want you to worry but I don’t think you should be by yourself for the next few days. Not until we get to the bottom of all of this, I mean.”
“Do you think somebody might want to hurt me?”
“We don’t know,” Killian said, “but I’d rather be safe than sorry.”
“You can stay with me,” Taylor offered. Killian sent her a puzzled look. “Just for a few days. I’ve got plenty of space, so you’d have your own room.”
“I don’t want to be a burden.”
“You won’t be.”
“Ok,” Killian said, “that’s settled, then — but I must emphasise that nobody must know about this.” He looked at Alice. “If anybody asks, you’re spending a few days with a friend.”
“Which is the truth, isn’t it, dear?”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Alice closed the door and went straight through to the kitchen. DC Taylor had dropped her off to fetch what she needed. The jackdaw pecked at its cage door, meaning he was hungry. Alice emptied a full tin of dog food into the cage. The jackdaw glared at her.
“I have to go away for a few days,” Alice told him sternly, “for appearances’ sake. It’s up to you what you do with the food. You can gobble it all up in one go or you can ration it. I’ll have Eddie come in and feed you tomorrow. Eddie’s all right.” The jackdaw started to gobble up his food. “… for a man,” Alice added.
She packed a few items into a small suitcase, remembering to take some honey with her as a present. She’d run out of port. She hoped that Harriet Taylor had a drop of something at her house. She’s a police woman, she thought, she’s bound to have something to drink. The police were all alcoholics.
She went into the garden to check on the bees. They seemed lethargic today. The sun was out and the mid-morning temperature was already in the twenties. She wondered if Eddie would also keep an eye on them for her. She was about to go back inside when she caught a glimpse of the uneven mound of earth underneath the hollyhock bushes.
That’s where it all started, she thought, almost a week ago.
But how did it come to this? Status quo, Alice thought, there’s nothing more important than the status quo, especially in the autumn of one’s life. Normality and routine above everything else. Whatever it takes.
She smiled at the thought and went next door to the Sedgwicks’ house.
Eddie was in the conservatory reading a biography of somebody she had never
heard of — some man who had survived the war and had sold up everything and sailed around the world.
He looked up and took off his glasses. “Morning, Alice. They reckon it’s going to hit thirty degrees today. How are you feeling? I’m so sorry about Stanley. I read about it in the newspaper.”
“Don’t be sorry,” Alice said, “I’m not. Stanley left me years ago. I won’t even miss him. That’s what I want to talk to you about. I’m going away for a few days. I have an old friend in Bristol I’ve been promising to visit and now seems like as good a time as any, what with everything that’s been going on. Would you be able to feed the jackdaw for me? You’ll be doing me a huge favour.”
“Of course. It’ll do you good to get away from here for a few days. I’m thinking of getting away for longer than that. The bloke in the book I’m reading was fifty-nine when he sold up and set sail. It’s not too late to do anything.”
“You’re planning to get on a boat and sail around the world? What about Barbara?”
“We can all dream. I don’t want to lie on my deathbed regretting what I haven’t done in my life.”
“Me neither.” Alice handed him the spare keys to her house. “The jackdaw gets a quarter of a tin of dog food twice a day. It’s on the shelf next to his cage. I fed him this morning so he should be all right until tomorrow.”
“Take all the time you need. I know Stanley wasn’t around much but he was still your husband. And a shark, of all things. I’ll say one thing for Stanley - he didn’t do things by halves. Have a nice trip.”
“Thanks, Eddie. I’d better be off. It’s a long drive to Bristol.”
She didn’t mention the bees.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Harriet Taylor sat alone in her office. She had just come back from getting Alice settled in at her house. Alice had put on a brave face, but Taylor could tell she was suffering inside. Something was gnawing away at her. It had been almost a week since the hiker had found Milly Lancaster’s car at the bottom of Merryhead. Milly’s body had still not been found and it was highly unlikely that it ever would be. Just another body lost to the sea.
THE BEEKEEPER a gripping crime mystery with a dark twist Page 11