Mohammed did not reply. Instead, he removed the paint pot and brush from his overall pocket, and made his way towards the end of the cave where it met the sea. Dipping the brush into the pot, he proceeded to paint a red cross on both the inside and outside walls of the cave.
‘Can’t miss it,’ Mohammed said proudly, admiring his handiwork.
‘Picasso couldn’t have done any better,’ Aabid sniggered.
‘We’ll now return to the Penventon,’ Mohammed said, leading them out through the side door. ‘We’ll get a few days rest, before the next chest arrives.’
‘Great, so looking forward to it,’ Rashid groaned, as he trudged up the steep flight of stone steps.
‘Don’t worry, boys, you’re right. We’ll do it at night next time, and come by boat. It will be much easier so long as we’re not seen.’
‘What about their security, is that no longer an issue?’ Aabid asked sarcastically.
‘I’ll give Trembath an ultimatum. Either he turns off the CCTV or else we won’t deliver.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
The following morning over a mug of strong tea, she hinted about seeing him again but Guthrie did not reply. She wore a candlewick dressing gown over her naked body. Her face looked pale without make-up, her eyes puffy and red, caused by her drinking spree the night before.
‘You like living here?’ he asked, stirring more sugar into his tea.
‘Are you joking?’
‘It’s got a nice name, Strawberry Lane.’
‘Well, I haven’t seen any strawberries have you?’ she laughed.
Guthrie wanted to light up, but thought she might object.
‘The father of your son...’
‘My husband, Tom, died a month before our son was born, lung cancer. I named the baby after him, Tommy,’ she explained, her eyes watering. ‘We owned a lovely house in St. Agnes, overlooking the sea. Had a lovely nursery ready for the baby. Tom had spent months redecorating the house and landscaping the garden. And then, when he got sick, all our savings were eaten up with lawyers, and other crooks when we tried to sue the company.’
He felt sorry for her, for what he had done. Pity was an emotion he rarely felt for his victims, and she was a victim. He wanted to say, ‘yes, I understand your grief, my girlfriend died too.’ He so wanted to say it, but failed.
‘He worked in the mines, you see. Mostly Geevor, but that closed down in 1990. Tom wasn’t a miner but a geologist, he had a PhD.’
‘Wasn’t he life insured or anything?’
‘Yes, of course. But the insurance company wouldn’t pay up because they said it was the mining company who were liable, because he died from working down the mines.’
‘Radon gas?’
‘I’m not certain,’ she shrugged.
‘Mind you, there are numerous lung diseases from working down mines. Well, so I’ve been told.’
‘The mining company won’t pay out as they tried to deny liability. They said that the life insurance company should pay and vice versa,’ she explained, buttering a slice of toast. ‘Waiting for it to go to court, but the solicitors here are rubbish. Have some toast.’ She pushed the plate towards him.
‘Thanks.’ He took a slice and buttered it. ‘Do you often bring men back?’ Guthrie regretted it as soon as the words had been spoken.
‘Last night was the first time. I was drunk. It’s also the first time I’ve left Tommy with a babysitter overnight, apart from when I work. But, I’m not going to make excuses.’ Her blue eyes watered. ‘Last night was the anniversary of Tom’s death. I just didn’t want to be alone.’
‘How do you manage, I mean financially?’
‘I used to be a full-time nurse, a ward and theatre sister in Treliske,’ she volunteered. ‘But I had no one to look after my son every day. So, apart from the occasional stint there when they’re short staffed, I have to make do working as a chamber maid at the Penventon until he goes to school next year, and then I can go back part-time.’
‘I suppose child minders are expensive.’
‘He comes to work with me at the moment, I only do mornings. Start at nine finish by two most days,’ she sighed. ‘They don’t mind as he’s very good. I wouldn’t leave him with a stranger, especially not after he’s lost his father.’
‘What about the person who babysat last night?’
‘Oh, yes, well the old lady takes care of him if I have to go to Treliske on emergency cover, but she’s too old and frail to look after him daily.’
‘What about your family?’ He wondered why he was bothering to ask so many questions to a one night shag.
‘My family live in Ilford, it’s in Essex. But, I wouldn’t be eligible for a council house there now, even if I wanted to go back. And I definitely can’t afford to buy one.’ She put down her mug of tea and laughed. ‘Ha, you’ve asked all these questions about me, and I know nothing about you.’
He gave a wink, shocked that she came from the same place he did, Ilford.
‘Actually, I noticed you yesterday lunchtime at the Penventon, whilst I was cleaning one of the bedrooms. I saw you walking out of the reception with two men,’ she said, buttering a slice of toast. ‘I laughed at the mix up with the attaché cases.’
‘What mix up?’ he asked, helping himself to more toast.
‘It was the older man who was with you, he put down his attaché case near the porch,’ she explained. ‘It was right near to the case belonging to one of the Arabs who are staying at the hotel. I noticed that they each picked up the wrong case. I tried to wave to them but no one saw me, and by the time I got to reception everyone had driven off. I hope your friend got his case back.’
‘So, what do you know about these Arabs?’
‘Oh, not a lot, just that they’re very good tippers. I think they’re from Dubai, you know, the United Arab Emirates.’
‘Are they here for work or pleasure?’ He tried to sound nonchalant.
‘I think they have something to do with South Crofty. I found some maps of the mine on a table when I cleaned their room. They’re probably studying at the Camborne School of Mines. They take a lot of foreign students.’
‘They’ll obviously be very rich when they return home to wherever, you should get in with them,’ he teased. ‘Or do you prefer us poor Brits?’
‘Sorry, I drank too much last night.’
‘Don’t worry about it. So, you sometimes work at Treliske, what’s your name again?’
CHAPTER NINE
Tehidy Country Park was 3.4 miles from Strawberry Lane, Redruth. Two hundred and fifty acres of spectacular woodland thick with trees and shrubs, and nine miles of nature trails, giving the opportunity for mountain-biking and horse riding. There were even trails for the visually impaired. The large mansion house that stood in the grounds, was once home to the wealthy Bassett family, who had made their fortune from tin and copper. Now the mansion had been transformed into apartments.
Riding his Harley into North Cliff car park he wondered if he should forget today and go home to bed. He was tired, only been in the job a week, but, after spending a year just sitting in a cell he was feeling the strain.
A haze of bluebells greeted him on entering the woods, rocking to the tune of the westerly winds. Thick with foliage and flora, the country park offered protection to numerous creatures, including bats, badgers and foxes. Two grey squirrels ran over hoping for a treat, alerted by his feet crunching over the broken twigs. Of course, this was not the easiest route to take, in order to get where he was heading; but it was definitely more interesting.
Information posts were scattered across the park, giving the names of the vegetation, and other scientific data. Following a stream along its course, he eventually reached Otter Bridge, where he stopped to light up. The information post told him that the stream flowed from Tehidy Park right out to the sea at Godrevy Point. He wondered if this stream was connected in any way to the red river, that Redruth was named after.
Continuing along a daf
fodil bordered path, he arrived at a lake that gave refuge to swans and emerald headed ducks. The blossoming trees were in abundance here. Maple, conifers, horse chestnut trees, towering above the bushes and shrubs; casting shadows along the paths and lakes.
As he walked beneath the shadows of the trees, along the paths carpeted in pink and white blossom, he was unable to fully appreciate the beauty of his surroundings. His mind focussed only on Stella.
The signpost read:
TEHIDY BEE FARM
Bees had been the second word on his agenda.
Rows of white beehives were lined up in the distance, resembling miniature beach chalets. He would feign he was a student from the African Continent, who had come to study at the Camborne School of Mines. Numerous students from Namibia studied there, as the country had a wealth of diamond mines.
‘Excuse me, sir, are you Mr Matthew Trembath?’
The stout bearded man sitting on a tractor turned to look at him. ‘Who wants to know?’ he grunted in broad Cornish.
Guthrie was about to offer his hand, but changed his mind. ‘I’m a student at Camborne School of Mines, and I’m researching bees surviving in tin mines. It’s for my dissertation.’
‘Bit old aren’t ‘ee, boy? Should get yourself a proper job,’ the man said, wiping his nose on his sleeve. ‘Never ‘erd of a bee going down a tin mine.’
‘I wonder, would you mind if I took a quick look around, perhaps take some photos for my dissertation. It would be a good advert for your honey.’
‘I used to be a miner, and my faither before me, and I can say that none of we ever saw a bee down a mine shaft.’
‘Oh, really? They’re a big thing in Botswana’s diamond mines, replacing the old canary.’ Guthrie had sunk.
So, he was more than surprised, when the man said, ‘Matthew Trembath be on holiday in Spain with his missus, he’s the owner. But, I suppose he wouldn’t mind ‘ee taking photos. Long as ‘ee don’t touch anything.’
Taking out a small notepad and pen to feign that his was writing notes, he began to inspect the hives.
Over on the far side of the field stood a plush white farmhouse. Guthrie presumed that honey must have a far higher turnover than he had previously imagined.
When he was certain the tractor was far enough away, he headed towards the farmhouse. As he drew near, it turned from a farmhouse into a white mansion with a double garage.
He wondered about security as he approached the front door and rang the bell. Having waited about 7 minutes he turned to leave. Just then the door opened, a young woman stood inside wearing a white cap and apron, obviously the maid.
‘Oh, hello, sorry to bother you, but I’m doing a dissertation on bees.’
‘Sorry, Mr Trembart’ is away. Do you want to leave your card?’ The maid was extremely pretty with auburn hair and a figure to die for. She spoke in a strong Irish brogue.
‘My name is Gu. . .Gumtree.’
‘Oh, yeah, and oi’m Mrs Trembart’.’
‘Gumtree. That was my father’s tribe, an African tribe. Haven’t you heard of the Gumtrees?’ he feigned to be incredulous.
‘There’s CCTV all around, you know. And also oi would take a bet that you’re the only black man in the woods.’
‘Are you being racist?’ he raised his brows.
‘No, sir, oi don’t be racing nowhere, oi only walk.’ She suddenly softened and smiled. ‘Well, you’ll be wanting a cup of tea or something stronger oi expect, so you might as well come in.’
Following her across the vestibule, they passed a large staircase that had a replica marble statue of a naked boy standing at the bottom.
She led him into the kitchen, where they perched on stools by the coffee bar. A copy of The Tatler lay open beside an empty cup.
Dropping the African voice, he asked, ‘what’s your name?’
‘Kat’leen O’Brien. Direct descendent from the great Brian Boru, King of Ireland,’ she smiled. ‘You can call me Katie.’
‘Brian Boru, eh? I’ve heard the tune, Brian Boru’s march.’
‘That’s who the O’Briens’ are named after.’ She offered him a biscuit. ‘Homemade. Tea or coffee?’
‘Is it Typhoo?’
‘Co-ops own brand.’
‘Coffee please,’ he said, biting into the buttery, sugary shortbread. It was just what he needed to give him an energy boost. ‘So Tehidy Wood backs onto this land, then?’
‘Yes, that’s why there’s security, to stop kids climbing t’rough the fence. One got badly stung once.’
‘Did a security alarm tell you I was in the grounds?’
‘No. The security is broken. Someone’s coming to fix it around tea time,’ she raised her brows. The maid placed the coffee percolator in front of him, and then sat on the stool opposite.
‘You work hard,’ he remarked, pouring her coffee first.
‘You can say that again, bloody slave drivers.’
‘I take it you don’t like them.’
‘Hate them. But it’s a job.’
‘So where are your freckles?’
‘My what?’ she giggled.
‘Your freckles, all natural redheads have freckles on their face.’
‘Well, oi must be an anomaly.’
‘Do you have kids?’
‘Why, you going marry me?’
‘You’ve got lovely green eyes, Katie.’
‘Same colour as yours, perhaps we’re related.’
‘Comedienne, I like it. Actually, I had a friend who lived around the Tehidy area, I wonder if you’ve heard of her?’
‘What’s her name?’
‘Stella Johnson.’
‘No, sorry.’
‘She died.’
‘Oi’m sorry to hear that, heart attack?’
‘No, she got stung by a bee. I wonder, have you heard of any bee infestations or rogue bees in the area. Or anyone who has died from a bee sting?’
‘None that oi can think of. Although, oi have known some rogue men in my time,’ she laughed.
‘She died in Antwerp. It’s in Belgium,’ he explained, his eyes wandering about the room. ‘This is a huge house.’
‘It’s only got 5 bedrooms. Come and take a look at the library, you might find what you’re looking for in there.’
A large framed photograph hung on the library wall, between the huge mahogany bookcases.
‘Boss and his family,’ she said, handing him a couple of books about bee stings.
‘Very attractive family,’ he commented.
She led him through another door into the lounge.
It was a huge room, decorated in gold and black. Its centrepiece was a white baby grand piano. In the far corner was a small cocktail bar, beside French doors that opened out to the swimming pool.
‘Do you play?’
‘Me? Oi can’t even whistle in tune. No, it’s the daughter-in-law of the house, she plays. She can paint too.’ Katie pointed to a painting above the large fireplace. It was Paris, the Eiffel Tower stood in the background.
‘Looks professional to me, she’s very good.’ Observing the painting more closely, he spotted the signature - Suzette Trembath.
‘She’s also a classically trained musician. Mrs Trembat’ is a very clever woman.’ Suddenly the phone rang. Katie ran back to the kitchen to answer it.
Needing a cigarette he strolled over to the cocktail bar to find an ashtray. There was a bottle opener beside the ashtray. It was a novelty opener in the shape of the Manneken Pis, the Brussels tourist attraction. Now realising that the statue at the bottom of the hall staircase was this same legendary character.
After taking a couple of photos with his pen-camera, he made his way out through the French doors.
The swimming pool looked inviting. Clear blue water and a couple of floating loungers. About to lie down on one of the sunbeds and take advantage of the sunshine, he suddenly noticed a greenhouse protruding from a small allotment at the side if the house. He went to have a closer look.
Rows of potatoes, radishes and carrots greeted him, flecked with apple blossom that had fallen from the trees.
Peering into the greenhouse, he immediately noticed the violets and saffron crocus. Both flowers looked similar, small and of lilac hue.
Sneaking inside, he plucked off a couple of the flowers and stuffed them into his satchel, along with a sample of earth and some suspicious looking leaves.
In the corner of the greenhouse, a pile of cardboard boxes were stacked up against a bonsai tree. On inspection, each box had different labels: Violet soaps, Golden Honey bath crystals, Lavender talcum powder. At the bottom of each label was a signature, Sweet Bee. He was about to grab a few samples when he heard a noise, it was the tractor heading towards the house.
‘Fancy coming out to dinner with me tonight?’ he asked when she returned to the lounge.
‘Can’t tonight, got to work.’
‘If you’ve nothing better to do now, fancy a ride to Porthtowan, I’ll buy you lunch?’
They ate lunch on the terrace of a bistro overlooking Porthtowan beach, the bay just along from Portreath. The sun was blazing down, sparkling across the ocean. But, instead of soft white sand, here, the sand was wet and dark, mostly covered by shale.
From what he was able to glean from Katie, the owner of the bee farm, Matthew Trembath, was near to retirement, and both he and his wife, Janice, spent most of their time in Spain. She also mentioned that he owned a factory shop in Portreath that sold household goods, which explained the boxes in the greenhouse. But still, it was an odd place to store them.
‘Ah, look!’ she cried, pointing to a gull that had landed beside her on the terrace. Turning her head towards the bird, her auburn hair caught the sunshine as if it were on fire.
‘You’re a very beautiful woman, Katie. But I’m not telling you something you don’t know, or that hasn’t been said before.’ Leaning across the table he gave her an impromptu peck on the cheek.
Catch The Stinger, Before It Stings You! Page 6