The Crooked Shore

by Martin Edwards

  He couldn’t resist throwing a meaningful glance at DC Cohen, the epitome of the cynical subordinate. She looked out through the window. Disapproval tightened her lips as she considered the garden, with its apology for a rockery, rusty wrought-iron outdoor furniture, and crumbling old shed.

  Hurriedly, he said, ‘There was another consideration. You’ll be aware that recently I had the misfortune to witness a suicide at Strandbeck. The press mauled me. Like a lynch mob, even though I was entirely innocent. My only crime was raising the alarm, notifying the emergency authorities that a man was in danger!’ His voice trembled at the injustice he’d suffered. ‘Perhaps you can understand why I was reluctant to expose myself to any further risk of trial by media. However, I was troubled by my conscience, as well as my fears for Ms Reece-Taylor. Quite apart from my personal fondness for her, there was a question of public duty. I simply couldn’t turn a blind eye.’

  Again Hannah gave a slight nod. So far, he told himself, so good.

  ‘Which is why you decided to confide in Daniel Kind?’

  ‘Exactly. I was aware that he was acquainted with you personally, Detective Chief Inspector, and given his expertise in crime, I was also interested to hear his own views.’

  ‘We’d like to hear what you have to say in your own words.’

  ‘Fine.’ He swallowed some tea and settled back in his chair. ‘Are you sitting comfortably, to coin a phrase? Then I’ll begin.’

  He recounted the events at Sunset View, mentioning his short-lived friendship with Logan Prentice, shorn of any embarrassing admissions. Since agreeing to this appointment, he’d given anxious consideration about how to skate on thin ice, and was rather pleased with the deftness of his footwork. How bitterly he regretted being so candid with Daniel Kind, even though he’d tried to avoid humiliating himself. Nothing he was saying now was actually untrue. Yes, his version of events was a tad selective. But then, all narratives were personal and subjective, weren’t they?

  ‘It was a murder for money,’ he said. ‘When it turned out that Prentice wasn’t going to inherit a penny, he must have been mortified. I’m sure it hasn’t stopped him sniffing around for other prospective victims, but he was too canny to use precisely the same modus operandi. If he became a fixture in care homes, sucking up to old ladies with pots of cash at every opportunity, people would notice and draw their own conclusions.’

  Hannah said, ‘You think he’d taken fright, even though your allegation was disregarded?’

  ‘Definitely.’ Kingsley was getting into his stride. ‘He’s neither stupid nor rash. Believe me, Prentice is crafty as well as a danger to the people he befriends for gain. Such as Tory Reece-Taylor.’

  ‘Tell me about her,’ Hannah said. ‘And her involvement with Logan Prentice.’

  DC Cohen shifted position, giving a heavy sigh as she did so. Kingsley was irritated by her manner. The chair really wasn’t that uncomfortable, you just needed to get used to it.

  ‘May I use your bathroom, please?’ she asked.

  ‘Of course.’ Kingsley pointed to the door. ‘Through there, then first on the right.’

  As she left the room, he launched into the second episode of his story. Hannah Scarlett cupped her chin in her hand, giving him her full attention in a manner he found gratifying. A pleasant woman, not in the least hard-bitten or scornful. The girl next door type. There weren’t enough of them around. If he’d been a few years younger, he’d have loved to get to know her better. Today, his energies were concentrated on making her understand the threat Tory faced.

  ‘I realise that this must seem like supposition,’ he said as DC Cohen rejoined them, ‘but if you knew Prentice, what I’m saying would make perfect sense. He’s taking advantage of a much older woman.’

  The constable frowned, and he turned to Hannah in the hope of a more satisfactory response.

  ‘A woman,’ he continued in a solemn tone, ‘who has already been clinically dead. It’s a miracle she’s still with us, let alone in such – um, excellent shape. As she puts it, she loves coming back from the dead, but her medical history puts her at extreme risk. We have a duty of care to protect her from Logan Prentice.’

  ‘I was wondering,’ Hannah said mildly, ‘what you propose we should do.’

  ‘If you could speak to Tory. The sooner, the better. Please forgive me, I don’t wish to be presumptuous, but I’m sure she would be more receptive if you spoke to her personally, rather than delegating to a junior officer.’

  ‘And what do you suggest I tell her?’

  He dug a hand into his trouser pocket and pulled out a piece of paper bearing his spidery scrawl.

  ‘Here are her details. Address, landline and mobile numbers, email. Explain the risk she’s running, persuade her to be on her guard. No need to mention my name.’

  ‘Even if we do talk to Ms Reece-Taylor,’ Hannah said, taking the paper from him, ‘surely she will guess that you’re behind it? You’ve already warned her about Logan Prentice, and she sent you off, as you put it, with a flea in your ear. Won’t she simply assume that you’re stirring up trouble because you’re jealous that she’s rejected you for him?’

  ‘She hasn’t rejected me,’ he said tartly. ‘Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear. We had a little argument, as I said. A tiff, something and nothing. She can be very touchy.’

  ‘Ah, I see.’

  ‘I’m sure you can handle her,’ he said. ‘And that she’ll pay heed to words of advice from a senior detective.’

  ‘What if she resents our interference? If she asks us for evidence of Prentice’s criminal behaviour?’

  ‘Check him out,’ Kingsley said.

  ‘We’ve already established that he doesn’t have a criminal record.’

  ‘A leopard doesn’t change his spots. You just need to dig a bit deeper.’

  ‘If he’s as cunning as you suggest, he will have covered his tracks. Suppose Ms Reece-Taylor tells Prentice that we’ve talked to her, and he accuses us of police harassment?’

  ‘That would be an outrage!’

  ‘Stranger things have happened.’

  ‘Crime prevention is better than cure.’ This was a snappy phrase he’d come up with last night, and he was proud of it. ‘Far better that she’s guided by someone in authority. She’s putting her head in the sand, even when she ought to know better. The simple truth is that she doesn’t want to admit she’d been gulled by a young crook. She needs saving from herself. I feel responsible for her well-being, but I need help. Above all, Tory needs help.’

  He leant back in his chair, satisfied that he’d made a compelling case without getting swept away by emotion. An eminent silk would have been proud.

  Hannah finished her tea. ‘You’ll understand that there are strict limits to what we can and should do, Mr Melton. I make no promises.’

  He nodded, recognising the official disclaimer for what it was. She had to watch her back, so did everyone in authority in this day and age.

  ‘All I can say is that we’re grateful to you for drawing this matter to our attention, and we will consider very carefully all the information you’ve passed to us.’

  ‘I’m sure you’ll appreciate the urgency,’ he said. ‘Tory’s medical history does mean that she’s extremely susceptible to …’

  ‘We understand the points you’ve made.’

  Hannah and her constable stood up. Disappointment stabbed him. Whilst he’d been talking, he’d thought her empathetic, quite different from all the others who ignored what he said about Prentice. All of a sudden, he was unsure of her. Listening patiently wasn’t enough. She must take action, he was depending on her.

  ‘You will keep in touch? Make sure to let me know when you’ve decided what to do.’

  ‘Actually, Mr Melton, whilst we’re here, there’s something I wanted to ask you.’

  ‘Yes?’

  Her expression gave nothing away, but he noticed a subtle change of tone. He scanned her face for clues, but found nothing. Yet the atmo
sphere had changed, as if he’d opened a window and a cold gust of wind had blown through the room and rattled the teacups.

  ‘As you’ve gathered, my team has been tasked with looking into the disappearance and possible murder of Ramona Smith twenty-one years ago.’

  He sniffed, like an animal scenting danger.

  ‘We’ve taken a look at the old files and come across the statement you gave at the time.’

  For a horrid moment he was afraid he was going to be sick. The statement, of course! He’d striven to banish it from his mind. At the time, his brief encounter with the police had been alarming, but nothing had come of their inquisition. There was no follow-up interview. It was buried in the past. Dead and gone. Why on earth did they keep hold of such things for so many years? It was absurd. Disgraceful.

  The eyes of both women bored into him. He felt the blood drain from his face, as if sucked out by a vampire. When he spoke, his voice was a croak.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘You knew Ramona Smith’s mother. You were a client of hers.’

  He sucked air into his lungs. ‘We were … acquaintances.’

  ‘You paid her for sexual services,’ Hannah said. ‘In the privacy of her home.’

  She didn’t sound cold and condemning. A straw to clutch at, even if she didn’t sound sympathetic, either. He kept his eyes away from the older woman, who had taken a dislike to him from the moment she’d stepped across the threshold.

  ‘It was – a very long time ago.’

  Hannah waited. Was she expecting some incriminating admission? If so, she’d be disappointed.

  ‘I only visited her half a dozen times, if that. I was young, immature; it was a time in my life when I felt very much alone.’ A good line, he thought. ‘Before long, I moved on. I’ve never … behaved like that since. To be perfectly honest, I’d forgotten all about it.’

  ‘We wondered whether, on reflection, there was anything you wanted to add to your statement.’

  The clicking of his brain was almost audible. ‘I answered each question as best I could. I told the police everything.’

  ‘We brought a copy of the statement to refresh your memory.’

  Hannah unzipped a side pocket of the briefcase, taking out a sheet of paper in a plastic wallet.

  He scanned the typed lines. At least he’d not compromised himself. Apart from admitting to an intermittent sexual relationship with the dead mother of the missing woman.

  It could be worse, he told himself.

  He handed the statement back to her. ‘Yes, that’s about the size of it. There’s nothing more to say.’

  ‘You’re quite sure you never met Ramona?’

  ‘I made that clear. It was her mother that …’

  ‘Was your friend?’

  He glared, but couldn’t detect any hint of mockery in her voice or expression.

  ‘It was a business relationship, nothing more. I was going through a difficult time.’

  ‘Why was it difficult?’

  The room was warm and stuffy. He dabbed at his brow with a handkerchief. ‘I was a young man. Youngish, anyway. I’d never had much luck with the opposite sex. If … if you must know, I was a virgin.’

  There. He’d said it. These two women had wrung the confession out of him. What were they thinking? Their faces gave nothing away.

  ‘I suppose Leila was … an outlet.’ He risked a note of sarcasm. ‘We didn’t discuss our respective families.’

  ‘Ramona lived in the same house. There must have been signs of her presence.’

  ‘I don’t recall.’

  ‘Did Leila not mention her?’

  His shoulders crumpled. ‘The purpose of my visits wasn’t to discuss Leila’s relatives.’

  The two women waited.

  ‘I … I suppose she may have said something about a daughter. In passing. Obviously, she was alone in the house each time I called. I simply can’t remember any more. You’ll have to take my word for it.’

  Bunny said, ‘Did you know anyone called Vee?’

  The question caught him off balance. He screwed up his face in a parody of brain-racking.

  ‘Vee?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.’

  Hannah said, ‘Ramona had a friend called Vee.’

  ‘I told you.’ He stared at the carpet, his voice choking. ‘I didn’t know Leila Smith’s daughter. Or anyone called Vee, for that matter.’

  ‘Bowness is a small town, Mr Melton. You lived here all your life and so did she. Do you insist that you never bumped into Ramona, not even casually?’

  He tried to gather his strength. ‘Well …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’ve no recollection of meeting her.’

  ‘So you may have met her and simply forgotten about it?’

  He could barely muster a shrug. The women said nothing. Mustering what was left of his dignity, he said, ‘I’ve told you. I have nothing to add.’

  The detectives exchanged glances. ‘Sure about that, Mr Melton?’ Hannah asked.

  ‘How many times do I have to repeat myself?’ There was a note of rising hysteria in his voice.

  ‘You wouldn’t be Vee, by any chance?’

  He jerked his head. ‘What?’

  ‘It wasn’t a nickname? A term of endearment that Ramona used for you? Was it short for something?’

  ‘Have you gone mad?’ He didn’t need to feign bewilderment. ‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. What can Vee be short for?’

  ‘You tell me.’

  ‘Valerie, Vanessa, Vincent?’ He spread his arms. ‘I had a sister who died when she was young. Her name was Vesper, but we never called her Vee.’

  Hannah’s eyes bored into him; she might have been an undertaker, measuring a corpse for a shroud. Her silence was a wall that he wasn’t able to scale.

  ‘This is absolutely ridiculous!’ he shouted. ‘I invite you into my home in all good faith, trying to do my civic duty and help you to stop a murderer in his tracks, and what happens? You subject me to an inquisition. Make me feel as though I’ve committed a crime.’

  ‘Very well, Mr Melton,’ Hannah said. ‘Thanks for seeing us. We’ll consider everything you’ve told us. In the meantime, perhaps you could rack your own brains. See if you can tell us anything about Ramona. Or Vee. If you do, please let us know at once.’

  The two women walked into the hallway. ‘Don’t bother to see us to the door,’ Bunny said. ‘You look upset. We can find our own way out.’

  ‘Well?’ Hannah asked as they strapped themselves into the car.

  ‘Oh, my God!’ Bunny cast her eyes upwards. ‘What a piece of work!’

  ‘I’m guessing you didn’t take to him?’

  ‘Pervy bloke with a fetish for stuffed birds, what’s not to like? I mean, seriously, I got the heebie-jeebies just sitting on that nasty old chair. Sitting room? More like the set for one of those old Hammer horror movies. I wouldn’t put it past him to have stuffed those birds himself!’

  Hannah grinned. ‘His treasures would fetch a few bob on Antiques Roadshow.’

  ‘Fusty old garbage. Give me Ikea any day. And what about the wasteland that passes for his back garden? See how it spooked him out when I was looking through the window? I’d love to get a search warrant.’

  ‘No chance of that,’ Hannah said. ‘We don’t have a scrap of evidence that he’s done anything wrong.’

  ‘For all we know, what’s left of Ramona Smith is in his garden shed, a victim of his do-it-yourself taxidermy.’

  ‘You don’t think she’s buried under the rockery?’

  ‘Maybe I give him credit for too much imagination.’

  ‘Apart from that, you reckon he’s a decent upstanding individual?’

  ‘Ugh!’ Bunny gave a theatrical shudder. ‘Him and his Viennese whirls. They’re probably laced with weedkiller. When I went to the loo, I took a peek inside his medicine cabinet. It’s full to bursting with all sorts of drugs.�
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  ‘Arsenic?’ Hannah kept a straight face. ‘Strychnine? Cyanide?’

  ‘Prescription pills, mainly,’ Bunny admitted. ‘Loads of antidepressants. Painkillers. Enough to kill a horse.’

  ‘He’s on the edge,’ Hannah said. ‘Beneath the surface, under that desperate bonhomie, there’s a sad and inadequate man, struggling to put a brave face on things.’

  Bunny allowed herself a rueful smile. ‘That’s why you’re a DCI and I’m a DC. I find it difficult to control my feelings. Let alone my big mouth. I’m not as compassionate as you. Honestly, he made my skin crawl.’

  ‘Dunno about compassionate,’ Hannah said. ‘Part of me feels sorry for Kingsley Melton, part of me doesn’t trust him one inch. One thing is for sure. He’s genuinely afraid that Prentice means to murder Tory Reece-Taylor.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  ‘I want to know everything about you,’ Tory said.

  This is the life, Logan was thinking. Lounging in the sun at one’s country estate, the coastline a stone’s throw away. A glass of bubbly at your feet, and a semi-naked woman by your side. Why must she spoil their bliss with pointless questions?

  ‘There’s not much to tell.’

  He took another sip of prosecco. They’d picnicked in front of the summer house, undisturbed except for scampering squirrels and the squeal of gulls. He closed his eyes, but Tory didn’t pick up on the signal that he’d ended the conversation.

  ‘You’re too modest, sweetheart. Honestly, you’ve got so much going for you. I don’t just mean your looks. You’re smart. Not just about fixing computers, either. You act, you play the piano …’

  ‘Not very well.’

  ‘There you go, running yourself down again.’ She sighed. ‘Not like Winston. He had a fraction of your talent, God rest his soul, but he was so full of himself. Thought he knew it all.’

  ‘You and he were together a long time.’