THE BEEKEEPER a gripping crime mystery with a dark twist

by Stewart Giles

  “I don’t get much chance to go shopping. That smells delicious.”

  “I made an apple sauce to go with it. It’s an old family recipe. You didn’t have any apples in the house, so I did a bit of shopping. I got a nice bottle of port too if you’re interested.”

  “I’d better not. I’ve got an early start in the morning.”

  “On a Saturday?” Alice opened up the bottle of port and poured a large glassful.

  “There’s a team coming in from Exeter tonight. They’ll be taking over the investigation. I’m the only one who’s been asked to join them.”

  “That’s not going to make you very popular.” Alice took a long sip of port and smiled sympathetically. “Life’s not going to be too pleasant for you at work, my dear.”

  “I know,” Taylor said, “but I could hardly say no. I really need a shower. Have I got time before the food’s ready?”

  “Of course. The gammon’s still got another half an hour at least.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  The hospital was a thirty-minute drive from Trotterdown. Killian knew the route like the back of his hand. He left Trotterdown behind and headed inland. The housing estates and built-up areas were replaced by open fields and smallholdings as he drove further south. The tourist season was already in full swing and Killian negotiated drivers speeding up or slowing down to a dead halt on unfamiliar twisty roads.

  He thought about the day Megan was finally diagnosed. Megan had only been in her thirties when she started “seeing things funny” and being unable to do up her own buttons. It had taken a dreadful year and numerous appointments before the final diagnosis of one of the early-onset forms of Alzheimer’s.

  Killian had hung on to hope as long as he could. It had taken years before Megan’s memory and language started to go — that was the ‘good’ thing about this type of the disease. He’d read every bit of research he could find, and lobbied to get Megan any and all of the medications that could help her symptoms. They’d had a decent few years. Now, ten years down the line, things were different. Megan was deteriorating, her symptoms were way beyond anything that medication could control, and she couldn’t be left on her own. Once she got over this infection and came home, Killian would have to face the fact that even full-time paid carers might not be enough. He’d have to choose between putting his wife in a home, decades before he’d ever expected her to reach this stage, or give up his own work to be with his wife for the last heart-breaking years.

  Maybe all of this is happening for a reason, he thought, maybe the arrival of the team from Exeter is a sign. A sign that it’s time for me to hang up my gloves and concentrate on something much more important than police work.

  Killian knew he would be able to apply for early retirement. He also knew that, under the circumstances, it would be granted. But it was a grim decision to have to make. He was thinking so hard than he almost ran into the back of a huge SUV that had come to a halt in front of him.

  “Idiot,” he shouted. “Watch what you’re doing.”

  The SUV shot off at speed into the distance. Killian hated the roads at this time of year. The Cornwall tourist board claimed that the tourist revenue was essential to the local economy but, for Killian, all it meant was frustration on the roads and an increase in petty crime.

  Megan was fast asleep when he got to her room. He leant over her and kissed her on the cheek. Her breathing was very rapid. Killian brushed a stray hair from her eyes and sat down next to the bed.

  A young nurse came in. “She’s had a pretty rough twenty-four hours,” she said, “but she’s quite comfortable now. She’s been asleep for a few hours.”

  “I won’t wake her. I’ll just sit here if that’s all right.”

  “Of course, Mr Killian. Can I get you a cup of coffee?” She smiled.

  “No thanks. I’ve had far too much coffee already today.”

  “I thought that’s how you guys solved all your cases, over endless cups of coffee.”

  “Something like that.”

  “I’d better get back to my rounds.” The nurse checked the monitor next to Megan’s bed. “The doctor will want to speak to you later.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  The nurse left. His wife looked so peaceful in her sleep. It was as if there was nothing wrong with her. Every now and again her mouth would open slightly and close again. He shut his eyes and was just about to doze off when his phone started to ring in his pocket.

  It was Taylor.

  “What’s happening?” he asked.

  “Where are you?” she said.

  “At the hospital. Megan’s asleep. I was just about to nod off myself.”

  “Sorry. How’s she doing?”

  “Fine.” He didn’t have enough energy to talk about his wife’s condition.

  “I need to tell you something and I didn’t want you to hear it from somebody else.”

  “Go on.”

  “DCI James wants me on his team. I thought you ought to know. I’m the only one from Trotterdown he wants.”

  He said nothing.

  “Are you still there?” Taylor asked.

  “I’m here. That’s great news.”

  “You’re not angry?”

  “Why would I be angry? If he hadn’t wanted you on the investigation, I would’ve been angry. Well done. Make us all proud.”

  “Thanks. I hope your wife is going to be ok.”

  “Thanks, Harriet.”

  There was a pause and then Taylor added: “There’s something else. I mentioned to James about Alice Green’s wedding forty years ago. I told him you thought it wasn’t important. It just came out. I’m sorry.”

  “Taylor, my mind has been elsewhere for the past few days. You were right to mention it. Three people who were at the wedding are now dead. I should have seen the connection earlier. Like I said, my focus isn’t on the job at the moment. It’s time I stepped back for a while.”

  “Sir,” Taylor said.

  “Yes, Taylor.” Killian stifled a yawn.

  “Would it be all right if I called you if I need any help?”

  “Of course. But I’m not sure DCI James will appreciate it.”

  “He’ll never know,” Taylor said and rang off.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Taylor hung up.

  “How did he take it?” Alice asked.

  “Better than I expected. I thought he’d be angry.”

  “What’s wrong with his wife?”

  “Dementia. She’s only middle-aged but she’s had it for years and apparently she’s pretty bad now. Killian’s thinking of taking early retirement to look after her.”

  “See, there are still a few good men out there. Now come and eat.”

  The gammon was surprisingly good. Taylor hadn’t enjoyed her food so much for weeks. She’d been thinking of sloping off upstairs to bed early, given how early she’d need to be up the next day, but supper gave her the energy to sit cheerily with Alice, over a glass of mint tea for her and port for her guest.

  “You have a lovely house,” Alice said, “it’s so big. It must’ve cost a small fortune. Especially with that view.”

  “I couldn’t afford it on a police salary,” Taylor admitted, “but the insurance company paid out enough money for me to buy it outright. I suppose Danny looked after me in that respect.”

  “What was he like — Danny? He can’t always have been a bad lot. You wouldn’t have married him in the first place if he had been.”

  “Danny?” Taylor shook her head. “Danny was Danny Taylor. Everybody knew Danny. He could walk into any pub in Edinburgh and there would be somebody there he knew.”

  “Sounds just like my Stanley. How did you meet him?”

  “It was at a Christmas party.” Taylor hadn’t talked about any of this since the accident. “The venue had been double-booked. Can you believe it? With all the logistical expertise the Edinburgh police force had at their disposal they couldn’t even organise a Christmas do.”


  “It’s often the way.”

  “Anyway, it was late December and all the decent venues were booked so we decided to share the place with some hot-shot property development company. The Royal Hotel. Smack bang in the middle of Edinburgh. I’m going to make another glass of mint tea. Would you like some?”

  “I’m fine with the port. Go on. The Royal Hotel?”

  “It was a typical December evening in Edinburgh. Cold, damp and dreary and looked as if it would be either raining or snowing for the next two years. They had a live band on. They were awful, but most of the guests were so drunk they didn’t seem to notice. I don’t drink much and there’s nothing worse than watching drunk people when you’re stone-cold sober. I’d had enough and I was about to slip away when I spotted a man sitting with a group of people at the bar.”

  “Danny?”

  “Danny. He was staring at me. He wasn’t making any attempt to hide it either. I must admit, I thought he was rather nice but I wasn’t up for being chatted up, so I left anyway.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “He must have followed me, because he caught up to me in the car park. He said he’d noticed I wasn’t enjoying myself and asked if there was something wrong. He seemed genuinely concerned. Not creepy, just nice.”

  “They’re all like that in the beginning. It all changes when they’ve got what they’re after.”

  “We chatted in the car park for a while. I remember the rain started to come down harder and he offered me his coat. I told him I had to go and he asked me for my phone number.”

  “Just like that? And you gave it to him?”

  “Danny was different. He made me feel different. Anyway, I gave him my number and thought nothing more of it.”

  “But he phoned you?”

  “The very next day. I’d worked overtime and I told him I wouldn’t be finished until after ten but that didn’t seem to bother him. We met at a bar that stayed open late and we talked all night. Danny listened. He seemed genuinely interested in what I had to say. We were married within a year.”

  Alice poured another glass of port and sighed.

  “What happened after the wedding?”

  “That’s enough of my woes.” Taylor said. “It’s your turn. Tell me about Stanley Green.”

  “It’s pretty much the same story. Stanley swept me off my feet at a dance. Milly was there too, but Milly was the shy one. It’s a miracle she ever found herself a husband. Stanley promised me the earth, I believed him, and we were married a month later. My family told me it would be a disaster — that’s why none of them came to the wedding — but I thought it was a whirlwind romance. Prince Charming, eh?”

  “Do you have any children?”

  “No. Stanley said they’d only bugger things up. Those were his exact words. I thought he would change his mind as he got older but he never did.”

  “What did Stanley do for a living? Where did he work?”

  “This and that. He never really talked much about what he did and I knew better than to ask him. There was always food on the table and I never went without. He’d be gone for days at a time. Work, he used to say. The days turned into weeks, then months and in the end he would disappear for years. The last time I set eyes on Stanley Green was ten years ago.”

  “But you always took him back?”

  “At first I did. I knew what he was up to, but I used to fool myself into thinking, ‘He always comes back to me in the end, so I must be important to him.’ I pretended everything was all right. It was Milly who used to have to pick up the pieces when he left. I was a mess the first few times.”

  Taylor glanced at the clock on the oven. It was almost midnight.

  “Is that the time?” She finished the cold tea in her glass. “I have to be up in five hours. I’d better go to bed.”

  “Are you sure you won’t have a drop of port? It’ll help you to sleep.”

  “I’ll sleep just fine.” She remembered the pills, still in her jacket pocket.

  “I enjoyed the chat,” Alice said. “It’s nice to have someone to talk to again.”

  “For me too.”

  “You know what, Detective Harriet Taylor? You and I have more in common than either of us realises.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Taylor arrived at the station fifteen minutes early. She wanted to make a good impression on her first day in the new team. DCI James was already there, talking to PC Thomas White by the front desk. Thomas looked terrified. He was a good head taller than the DCI from Exeter but he stood with his head bowed.

  “Good morning. Bright and early.” James had spotted her. “Good. There’s time for a quick cup of coffee before we get cracking. We’ll meet in my office. We won’t be disturbed in there.”

  He meant Killian’s office. James walked off to the canteen and she didn’t feel like joining him. She’d made up her mind to commit to the investigative work but other than that she didn’t want to be chummy with the new gang.

  “Morning,” Thomas said to her. “I believe you’re part of the A team?”

  “I won’t ask what the ‘A’ stands for. I didn’t ask to be part of this. I suppose everybody’s going to snub me from now on?” she said.

  “Only the morons. I say good luck to you. Get this murderer banged to rights. It’s still all over the papers, you know.”

  “I’m sure it will be for a while yet. I suppose I’d better go and introduce myself to the A team.”

  Killian’s office door was shut. Killian had usually left it open. Taylor didn’t know whether to knock, but she did anyway. Inside, the skinniest woman Taylor had ever seen was sitting behind Killian’s desk. She was wearing a pair of rimless reading glasses. DI Jane Carrick, Taylor thought.

  The other two people in the room could not have been more unlike each other. One was completely bald. He had a nasty scar on the top of his head. His eyes were set far too close together and his nose was a button in the middle of his chubby face. The other was dark-skinned and pensive-looking, with green eyes and a full, almost feminine mouth.

  “You must be Harriet,” DI Carrick said. “Good to have you on board. I’m DI Jane Carrick and this is DS Paul Southern and DC Phil Brown.”

  Rather to Taylor’s surprise, Brown was the bald chubby man and Southern the wistful-looking one.

  “The DCI will be along in a short while,” Carrick told her.

  “Nice to meet you all,” Taylor nodded at them.

  “This must be a far cry from the bright lights of Edinburgh,” Southern said. He seemed quite pleasant, she had to admit.

  “Much quieter, but I like it here,” Taylor said.

  DCI Warren James announced his presence with a cough. Carrick stood up and James took the seat behind the desk.

  “Close the door, please,” he said.

  Taylor closed the door. She immediately felt claustrophobic. It was as if the air was being sucked out of the room. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

  “Are you all right?” James asked her.

  “I’m fine.” She concentrated on the blind behind Killian’s desk. It hadn’t worked properly for months but Killian hadn’t bothered to get it fixed.

  “Please sit down,” James said. “Before we begin, for the benefit of the new member of the team there are a few things to clarify.” He stared at Taylor.

  “Firstly, I expect everybody in this room to give their all. Nothing less than one hundred percent is acceptable. In return, you will receive certain concessions. I’ve headed up a number of investigations and I’ve found that a few ground rules make all the difference. So for one thing, from now on, we don’t mention rank.”

  Taylor frowned. “We don’t mention it?”

  “Communication on a team tends to be more relaxed if we all work on a first name basis. You are Jane, Phil, Paul and Harriet. Understood?” Everybody but Harriet Taylor nodded their heads.

  “Is there some part of what I’ve just said you don’t understand?”
/>   “No. I understood all of it. It just makes me uncomfortable addressing a superior officer by their first name.”

  “Get used to it. The second point I need to address is vitally important to the success of this investigation. Confidentiality. Everything we discuss regarding this case is to stay among the team and the team alone. The last thing we need is some cavalier PC running off on his own personal crusade trying to save the day based on some titbit of info he’s managed to glean from one of us. The information we choose to share will be at my discretion. Let’s get started, shall we? Harriet, since you’re a few steps ahead of the rest of us, why don’t you tell us what you have so far.”

  Taylor’s head was spinning. The DCI from Exeter certainly enjoyed listening to the sound of his own voice.

  “OK.” She put the chain of events together in her head quickly. “It all started a week ago today. Milly Lancaster’s car was found wrecked on the rocks at the bottom of Merryhead. Milly’s body still hasn’t been found. We suspect it was washed out to sea. We found traces of blood on the windscreen. Then the torso of an elderly man was hauled up in the nets of a fishing boat. He had been cut in half. The autopsy report indicated he had only been in the water for a few hours but he had been dead for almost a week. The body was identified as Stanley Green.”

  Taylor paused and looked around the room. All eyes were on her. DS Paul Southern was watching her with particularly keen interest.

  “Go on,” James urged.

  “Then there was a huge explosion in Polgarrow. Dennis Albarn’s house blew up, with him inside. It looked like an accident, because the gas stove was responsible for the blast, but Dennis Albarn was dead before the house went up.”

  The room was silent for a moment.

  “Three dead pensioners,” James said eventually, “all of them from a small village outside Trotterdown. It’s all very disturbing, isn’t it?” Clearly, he didn’t expect anyone to answer him. They knew what they were there to tackle.

  “All three knew each other well,” Taylor decided to take the initiative, “which isn’t particularly unusual in such a small community. What is unusual is this: forty years ago, all three of them attended a wedding in Plymouth.”