CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
“A shovel in a shed full of brewing equipment!” DCI James was beaming from ear to ear. “No other tools, just the shovel with a very sharp edge. The same implement our forensics friend Littlemore claims was used to chop Stanley Green in half. If there’s any traces of Stanley Green on that shovel we can put this one to bed and get back to civilisation. How do you put up with those bloody tourists, by the way?” He looked at Taylor.
“I haven’t been here long enough to have an opinion either way,” she replied.
“How long before we know?” Southern asked.
“An hour or so. I’ve made it clear that the shovel is their main priority at the moment.”
“I still can’t believe it,” said Taylor. “Carrick’s hunch was spot on.”
“Jane is very astute. And don’t sell yourself short — you’re not unlike her, if I may say so. There may be a promotion on the way in the near future. I, for one, would be happy to have you on my team.”
Over my dead body, Taylor thought.
“This waiting is driving me crazy,” Paul Southern said.
“Patience, Paul,” James said. “We’ll get there in the end. We always do.”
“What did Phil find out from the phone log?” Southern asked.
“Waste of time. Albarn didn’t phone Alice Green that evening.”
“So who phoned Alice, then?” Taylor said.
“It was probably a prank call. Like our beekeeper said, she was half-cut at the time and the line was bad. I wouldn’t be surprised if the whole thing was in her imagination. You know how old people can be at times.”
“So Albarn didn’t use his phone on Wednesday night?” said Southern.
“Who cares?” James’ smug smile was getting wider. “It’s all irrelevant now. When the shovel you found matches the one used to chop Stanley Green in half, we’ll be home free.”
“Are you sure there were no calls on his phone on Wednesday?” Taylor was finding it hard to believe that Alice Green had got it wrong. She was getting on a bit, but there was nothing wrong with her mind.
“I’ve got the call log here,” James produced a piece of paper.
Taylor looked at the log. There was one call at seven thirty-five.
“Somebody called him. Do we know who it was?”
“We traced it to a phone box in Trotterdown, so it could have been anybody. I really don’t think it matters. My gut feeling is telling me that Dennis Albarn is our man.”
“Mine too,” Southern agreed.
“Make that three of us,” DI Carrick entered the office, “a woman’s intuition is rarely wrong.”
Taylor smiled even though she was still not convinced. These detectives from Exeter were already basking in the glory of their success and looking forward to buggering off back home as soon as they could.
Leaving me to pick up the pieces. DCI James’ team had succeeded in making a fool out of the entire Trotterdown police department in the space of a few days. It would be Taylor who would be left to face the music. Well, she hadn’t finished yet.
“Let’s say the shovel is the one used to chop up Stanley Green. Who’s to say it wasn’t planted in Albarn’s shed?”
“Come on,” James said. “Of course it might have been, but who’d want to frame him? There’s no evidence. Whereas the timeline fits perfectly. Albarn was in all the right places at the right times. The man’s a known felon, for Pete’s sake. Enjoy a well-deserved victory when it comes along.”
“They’ll get over it,” Southern said. “Your colleagues, I mean. OK, there’ll be some sour grapes, maybe plenty of them, but you have to rise above it. The worst that will happen is you’ll have to put up with a few scowls and glares. You might get the silent treatment for a while, but you’ll have a lot more respect around this place afterwards. I can promise you that.”
“Paul’s right,” James agreed. “Bugger the lot of them. They’re not worth bothering about. I reckon we celebrate tonight. My shout, and I’m not taking no for an answer.”
“Let’s see what forensics have to say first,” Taylor said. “I’m going to shower and change my clothes. I can still feel the soot on me.”
“What’s her problem?” James said as she left the office. “She should be pleased.”
“It’s going to be tough on her for a while,” Southern replied.
“Bollocks,” James said.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Taylor called DI Killian. With everything that had happened, she had almost forgotten about his wife’s illness. Killian answered straight away.
“Sir, how’re you doing?”
“Rested. The doctors sent me home last night and I had the best sleep in a long time,” he said
“How’s Megan?”
“Stable.”
“Can we talk?”
“Of course. What’s on your mind?”
“Not over the phone. Can you meet me up at Merryhead in an hour?”
“Merryhead? Why do you want to meet up there?”
“I don’t know. I suppose that’s where all of this started. I need you to help me with something. I can’t think straight at the moment.”
“Merryhead it is, then,” Killian said.
Taylor dumped the soot-covered tracksuit at the front desk with DC Eric White.
“What’s this?” he asked.
She had a sudden idea. “I’m running late and this is the tracksuit we found at Dennis Albarn’s house. It needs to be treated carefully, bagged and labelled. I’d do it myself but, like I said, I’m late.”
“What do you want me to do with it?”
“Bag and label it, and send it down to evidence. Oh, and the soot is important so make sure you don’t lose any of it.”
Taylor left him to it. She glanced behind and chuckled as White held the tracksuit like a newborn in his attempt to preserve the precious soot. Maybe next time you’ll pass on a message when I ask you to, she thought.
She left the station before anybody had a chance to stop her. The roads were much quieter now. Maybe all the tourists had taken refuge from the heat. She could relax and try to work everything out. On the one hand, if Dennis Albarn had killed Stanley Green and Milly Lancaster and then committed suicide, it meant the case was closed and everybody could get on with their lives. DCI James and his team from Exeter could leave them in peace and Killian could get his office back. However — and the doubts were still nagging at Taylor’s insides — if Albarn wasn’t guilty, it meant that somebody had murdered three people and framed Albarn. And that meant there was a murderer — a clever one — still at large.
*
Killian was already parked at the top of Merryhead when Taylor arrived. He was leaning against the door of his car, staring out over the cliff top at the Atlantic.
“It makes you think, doesn’t it?” she said. “Makes you realise how small and insignificant we all are.”
“It makes me glad to be alive. What’s on your mind?”
“DCI James thinks we’ve cracked the case. We found a shovel in Dennis Albarn’s shed. It’s probably the one that was used to cut Stanley Green in half.” She told Killian everything else that had happened.
“But that’s great news,” Killian said. “You did it. You showed them.”
“Aren’t you upset that it wasn’t you who solved it?”
“Who cares who solved it? It’s all over.”
“I’m not sure. Something doesn’t feel right.”
“From what you’ve just told me it all fits. I don’t particularly like DCI James, but he doesn’t make mistakes.”
“I suppose you’re right. Maybe I just didn’t want him to be the one who figured it out.”
“It’s a result. That’s all that matters and you were part of it. Don’t forget that.”
“That’s another thing that’s worrying me. People have been treating me differently. They’re acting like I’m some kind of traitor.”
Taylor’s phone rang in her pock
et. “Taylor,” said PC Eric White, “DCI James couldn’t find you anywhere. He wanted me to let you know they found Stanley Green’s blood on the shovel you found in Dennis Albarn’s shed. It looks like it’s all over.”
“Thanks, Eric.”
“One more thing. Nobody seems to know anything about the tracksuit you asked me to take down to evidence. My shirt’s filthy from that thing. I got a real bollocking from the super about it.”
“Sorry. I must have been mistaken.”
She rang off and grinned.
“It looks like you’re going to get your office back,” she told Killian. “Forensics have confirmed it. The shovel found in Dennis Albarn’s shed was the same one that was used to slice Stanley Green in half.”
“That’s that, then. Everybody wins. We’ve found our murderer, we don’t have to spend taxpayers’ money on trials and incarceration, and we’ll all see the back of DCI James and his motley crew.”
“He wants to go out and celebrate tonight.”
“Just go. Enjoy the fruits of your hard work. Southern and Carrick aren’t too bad.”
“I suppose you’re right. I can go for a couple of hours. There’s something else I need to ask you.”
“You’re pushing your luck now.”
“I’m exhausted. I have some leave owed to me and I was thinking of taking some time off. I was wondering if you would approve a couple of weeks.”
“Consider it done. And now, if there’s nothing more, I have to get going.”
“There is one thing. You’re not really thinking about taking early retirement, are you?”
“Have a nice evening, Taylor.” Killian walked back to his car.
CHAPTER FIFTY
Taylor was glad DCI James had not chosen the Unicorn to celebrate the end of the investigation. She didn’t think she could handle the place two nights in a row. The car park of the Parade Hotel was almost full when she drove in. She parked next to an old VW camper van that obviously belonged to a group of keen surfers, with three surfboards tied to the roof. The tourist season was definitely in full swing.
Taylor thought about her own holiday. She really needed a break. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she had been away. Danny was always too busy doing whatever he did to even think about a break. She realised the last time she had been out of the country was on her honeymoon. That was a brief stay in a dreary hotel in Paris. Danny had needed to get back to work after a few days. After that, Taylor had spent most of her annual leave on her own in their house in Edinburgh.
I wasted three years of my life on that bastard. It’s time I lived a bit for myself.
She heard the team inside before she saw them. DCI James was particularly loud. Taylor almost turned round and left. Then she remembered what Killian had said — she would endure a few hours with the detectives from Exeter and leave. With any luck she would not have to set eyes on Warren James ever again.
“Harriet,” James shouted. He was holding a pint in one hand and what looked like a large whisky in his other. He was obviously already very drunk.
Here goes, Taylor thought. She walked up to their table. DS Southern stood up as she came closer.
“Glad you could make it.” He offered her the chair next to DI Carrick, “I took the liberty of ordering you a drink. Tonic water, wasn’t it?”
“Thanks.” Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad, after all.
“Now we’re all here,” James stood up unsteadily, “I’d like to make a toast. Everyone raise your glasses. Exeter and DC Harriet Taylor, you’ve done me proud.”
Taylor took a sip of tonic water. She was completely unprepared for what happened next.
“And as for Trotterdown,” James downed his whisky, “Fuck Trotterdown.”
Half the room turned to see what was going on.
“Fuck Trotterdown,” James was not finished yet, “we came, we saw, and we bloody well conquered.” He finished the beer. “Fuck Trotterdown,” he said again under his breath and belched.
“How much has he had to drink?” Taylor whispered to Southern.
“He started as soon as the results came in from forensics,” Southern muttered. “He has a bit of a problem.”
“What are you two whispering about?” James said. “Another round? I’m buying. It’s all on me. Two days, I tell you, two days and we nailed it. How long do you think you lot would’ve taken to figure it out?”
His glazed eyed tried to focus on Taylor’s face. He smiled at her. “Two years?”
She’d had enough. She couldn’t help herself.
“Warren,” she said, “it’s all right if I call you Warren, isn’t it? I’m still not convinced this investigation is over.”
Everyone at the table stared at her in disbelief.
“Come again?” James said.
“Something’s bothering me about it. Something’s not quite right.”
“Bothering you?” He stood up and teetered from side to side. “Bothering you? The only thing bothering you is that you lot are so inept that you had to beg for our help.”
“And we’re grateful for your help.” She now wished that she’d kept her mouth shut. “I just need to check a few things before I’m happy about all of this.”
“You’ll do no such thing.” James thrust his head forward aggressively. “This investigation is over. It’s been put to bed. You do not want to make an enemy of me, Constable.”
He said the last sentence with such venom that she flinched.
“Take it easy, boss. We’re here to celebrate.” Carrick’s attempt to calm the situation fell on deaf ears.
“Who the hell do you think you are?” James glared at Taylor. “And do you know who I am? Detective Chief Inspector Warren James. Youngest DCI in the history of the Exeter police department. I have the best clear-up rate in the west of England. And you are?”
“I think you’d better leave,” Southern said. “He gets like this sometimes. He’ll come and apologise in the morning.”
Taylor stood up and left without saying a word.
As she drove away from the Parade Hotel, Taylor shook off James’ little outburst. It hadn’t surprised her and it had given her an excuse to leave. It was still early and she wasn’t tired. It was still light on this never-ending longest day.
She didn’t feel like going home. A reckless idea suddenly struck her — she decided to take a risk for once in her life. She found the card in her purse, took out her phone and tapped in the number.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Dr Jon Finch entered the Old Boar pub in Polgarrow, stooping to get through the low door. His hair was wet. He’d obviously had a quick shower after Taylor had phoned him. She waved to him from the table closest to the bar.
“Dr Finch. Sorry to drag you out on a Sunday evening.”
“Are you kidding? Drinks with a charming lady beats Antiques Roadshow hands down. And please call me Jon.”
Taylor laughed. Finch was wearing the same aftershave as when she’d first met him. Danny’s aftershave. Something Italian, she recalled.
Finch got them both drinks — her usual tonic water, a pint of lager for himself — and joined her at the table. “I believe congratulations are in order. You ought to be out celebrating.”
“News travels fast around here. And I’m done with the celebrating thing. It didn’t go down too well.”
“Cheers anyway,” Finch took a sip of his lager. “I wasn’t expecting you to call, to be honest.”
“I bet you give your card to all the ladies. And false modesty doesn’t suit you, especially with those eyes.”
“I told you. They’re more of a curse than anything else.”
“I need a favour, Jon.”
“Interesting. The case is closed, so you’re not here in a professional capacity. What sort of favour are we talking about here? We barely know each other.”
“Very charming, I’ll give you that. Dennis Albarn, the man who died in the fire, I need to have another look at the autopsy report.�
��
Finch’s bright blue eyes darkened slightly and he pursed his lips.
“You said to ask if I ever needed to discuss anything with you.”
“I’m playing with you. I’ve perfected the ‘petulant child’ pout. What do you need to know about the report?”
“I don’t know but there’s something bugging me about this whole thing.”
“I’ll have it sent over first thing in the morning. Will there be anything else? I do a great John Wayne impression if you’re interested.”
“Maybe later. Could you send it to my home email address, though?” She took out one of her cards and wrote the address on the back.
“Is this going to get me into trouble?” Finch put the card in his back pocket. “I was told the case was closed.”
“It is. I just need to make sure everything fits together first. It’s for my own peace of mind more than anything else.”
“Then I’d be happy to help. But do yourself a favour and keep this quiet. I’ve worked with James before and he’s not known for his tolerance when it comes to people going off on their own. He’s arrogant, but that kind of conceitedness doesn’t just materialise out of nothing. James’ record speaks for itself.”
The door to the pub opened and Alice Green walked in. Spotting Finch and Taylor, she grinned widely.
She brought a glass of port over to their table. “Hello, my dear, lovely to see you again.”
She glanced at Finch and then sent Taylor an enquiring look.
“Sorry,” Taylor said. “Alice, this is Dr Jon Finch. Jon, meet Alice Green, a friend of mine.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Alice.” Finch stood up and held out his hand.
“Oh my,” Alice said, “look at the size of you. I bet you bang your head on things all the time. And those eyes, look at those eyes. I am sure you were a real terror when you were a child.”
“Would you care to join us, Alice?” he asked.
“No, I wouldn’t dream of disturbing you.” She smiled at Taylor. “I still have your spare keys. I can fetch them now if you like. I only live a few doors down.”
THE BEEKEEPER a gripping crime mystery with a dark twist Page 16