Catch The Stinger, Before It Stings You!

by E. R. Pomeransky

  The others remained silent.

  ‘I know at some point you’re going to ask why, if she knew we were in Belgium planning to kill her father, why she didn’t kill me.’

  Brian and Gerry nodded.

  ‘I’d hazard a guess that she wanted her father dead, so she could take over the firm.’

  Abigail, still tearful, asked, ‘what firm, the chemical weapons business or the bee farm?’

  ‘Both of course. She had no moral issues about her actions; no doubt due to being raised by her criminal father. Like the night she bumped off the old skipper in St. Ives harbour.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I’d forgotten about him,’ Gerry confessed.

  ‘Remember that night we had drinks in that bistro by the harbour, and she was supposedly visiting her friend in Hayle?’ Guthrie raised his brows. ‘I imagine it was an excuse to get out of the house. I would guess something had gone wrong, otherwise they’d have chosen somewhere far more discreet to kill him.’

  ‘You sound like Hercule Poirot, Guthrie,’ Gerry laughed.

  ‘Goodness, don’t mention him,’ Brian warned.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘’Cos he was also from Belgium, ha-ha.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Cornwall was buzzing. It was all over the headlines:

  RAF PORTREATH IN CHEMICAL

  WEAPONS SCANDAL

  VIVIENNE KALEEL ARRESTED

  TEHIDY BEE FARM

  MANAGEMENT UNDER ARREST

  TRELISKE HOSPITAL EXECUTIVE

  HELD IN CUSTODY

  Newsagents in every town and village in Cornwall had sold out by lunchtime. Although, it was the height of the season, and some feared that such negative publicity would damage trade long term. But for the present, the hoteliers, publicans and shopkeepers across the county were happy to be inundated with extra customers, including the media, police and inquisitive others. Even Blankenberge and Dubai were feeling the pressure. The story was broadcast on nearly every news bulletin across the world, not least due to the chemical waste dumping old chestnut being brought up again. Even Parliament had been called back from recess, and the Prime Minister had given a press conference.

  But not all of Cornwall was buzzing that day. In a small country churchyard near Redruth, a figure dressed in a black suit could be seen handcuffed to a police officer. There were no other mourners, only a police presence and the funeral directors.

  The grass was newly mown, the fresh, pungent smell rose up towards the blue sky. The sun blazed down, lighting up the nearby cornfields.

  The coffin was wheeled out of the hearse. Silence - not even a twitter of a bird as they wheeled it towards the open grave.

  The handcuffed man trembled as he tried to reach out to the coffin, but the shackles prevented him from moving.

  The undertakers carefully lowered the coffin down into the earth.

  There had been no service or minister. The man had not asked for one, after all, she had been an atheist.

  He wondered if his girls had remembered to wear sunscreen today. Now recalling the conversation with his late wife about her desire to move nearer the school, about how they were progressing with their horse riding and music. And now, it was all over for them, they would have to leave their school, their friends. How stupid he had been not to have considered the alternative scenario. Perhaps the girls could live with his parents in Spain, although, in truth, he had no idea where his parents were. It was possible they had also been arrested. After all, his father did own the farm, and he had been the one who had initiated the deal with Sebastian. The alternative option for his daughters was unbearable, he doubted he would ever see them again.

  It was as the earth was spaded over the coffin when the tragic figure fell to his knees weeping. The police officer attempted to drag him back up onto his feet, but his legs buckled, causing another officer to rush across the graveyard to assist.

  So many memories flooded his mind, as if his brain was a bingo ball dispenser, with all the memory balls bouncing out at him at once. Another memory ball suddenly bounced in - the face of Maxime. Maybe he was still in Belgium safe, if so, he could take the children; and for a brief second the man felt slight relief.

  Now, another ball had bounced in – her face, like the 99% of other balls in the dispenser. She always had tight rein of his heart, only her and no other, even though he had been unfaithful with his body. Adultery came second down his long list of shames that he would have to live with. She was his soul mate. After all, they had known each other since childhood.

  There were no wreaths or cards, he had not been granted that privilege. One solitary red rose lay on the top of the coffin, the attached card read:

  Petals - by Amy Lowell

  “Life is a stream

  On which we strew

  Petal by petal the flower of our heart;

  The end lost in dream,

  They float past our view,

  We only watch their glad, early start.

  Freighted with hope,

  Crimsoned with joy,

  We scatter the leaves of our opening rose;

  Their widening scope,

  Their distant employ,

  We never shall know.

  And the stream as it flows

  Sweeps them away,

  Each one is gone

  Ever beyond into infinite ways.

  We alone stay

  While years hurry on,

  The flower fared forth, though its fragrance

  still stays.”

  It was signed – Brian Boru

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Sitting on a bench above the river bank, Guthrie watched the afternoon sun cast a golden glow over the Malpas waters.

  It was here where the two rivers of Truro and Tresillian converged. Meandering in twists and turns along its course, bordered by dense woodland. It provided a shelter for the small birds that now swooped down onto the river bed, scavenging amongst the debris, as the boats sailed away towards the setting sun.

  Just along the shoreline curlews were wading in the shallow waters, as if they were secretly planning to cross to the opposite river bank, thick with trees.

  Tristan and Iseult were said to have crossed the Truro River here at Malpas, once known as La Mal Pas.

  They had been like Tristan and Iseult, acting out their lines in a cursed romance. Or maybe just two spiders ensnared in a self-made web. Yet, he had failed as her knight; never worn her colours, or fought any duals in her honour. Instead, she had shielded him from certain death.

  It was her funeral today. Perhaps they had let her husband attend, now that he was in custody. Wing Commander Paul Trembath, living with the knowledge that he had indirectly killed her. Guthrie did not feel guilty for his own part in it, only pity for their children. Yet, morality was such a complex issue. A gallantry medal for the soldier who achieved maximum slaughter of enemy fighters and innocents abroad, or a life tariff prison sentence for a single crime of passion, or accidental road death at home. Was the only difference that the soldier killed the enemy of the state, murder by proxy, commissioned by an unknown other?

  ‘Are you okay?’ Gerry asked, making his way to the back of the bench, followed by Abigail and Brian.

  ‘Yes fine, just thinking.’

  ‘It was good of you to pay the bill, but you didn’t have to.’ Abigail grabbed his hand and nestled it in her own.

  ‘It was just a small thank you from me for your exceptional support in this fiasco.’

  ‘Well, thanks anyway,’ Gerry patted him on the shoulder.

  ‘Yes, thank you, Guthrie, very decent of you,’ Brian added.

  ‘You’re a gem,’ Abigail bent forward to kiss his cheek.

  ‘I’d best tell you now, although it’s in my report,’ Guthrie digressed, as he handed round an open packet of Marlboro. ‘There is a hangar full of sarin packed into steel containers up at RAF Portreath, if you could sort that out I’d be grateful.’

  ‘Thanks for that,’ Brian nodde
d, helping himself to a cigarette. ‘I’ll inform the Chief Constable.’

  ‘Won’t the military want to take over the investigation?’ Abigail asked curiously.

  ‘They might want to, but they aren’t going to get the chance,’ Brian laughed.

  After taking a few drags from his cigarette, Guthrie added, ‘there are also tons of chemical waste up at Portreath. And I found a pile down South Crofty.’

  ‘Probably have to get the army in after all,’ Brian groaned.

  ‘Tell them to look for those 5 mounds on the base that I was telling you about, dumping areas for sarin. It could be as much as 40 tons.’

  ‘How did you find out about South Crofty?’ Gerry asked.

  ‘Just a tip-off.’

  ‘Wish I got as many tip-offs,’ Gerry complained.

  ‘You know they’ll send someone to arrest you, Guthrie, probably me. They found your DNA at the Eden Project whilst searching for a missing person.’

  Guthrie ignored Brian’s warning.

  They had all joined him on the seat by now, their eyes fixed steadfastly on the glorious Malpas river.

  ‘By the way, Guthrie, they are exhuming Stella Johnson’s body, as you requested, for a second post mortem.’

  ‘Thanks for that, Brian.’

  ‘What about her family, her husband, will they need to be informed?’ Abigail turned to face Guthrie.

  ‘No, she wasn’t married.’

  ‘I’ll read your report and get back to you,’ Brian patted him on the back. ‘You’ve lost a heck of a lot of weight.’

  ‘Must be the stress.’

  ‘Think you should join our police force, with you on the team crime would drop at least 80%, ha-ha,’ Gerry laughed. ‘Don’t know how you do it, give us a clue.’

  ‘The philosopher Descartes said: If you would be a real seeker after truth, it is necessary that at least once in your life you doubt, as far as possible, all things. I take it that one step further and doubt all people too, ha-ha.’

  As they stood up to go, Guthrie glanced out at the Malpas river for one last time. Then Brian and Gerry both shook his hand and headed off to their car.

  ‘Don’t worry about my arrest!’ Guthrie called after them. ‘It may never come to that!’

  ‘Well, I hope you’re right, mate, I really do!’ Brian shouted back, and then got into the driver’s seat with a heavy heart.

  Once they were alone in the car, Abigail asked, ‘Did Katie really have to die, was there no other way out?’

  ‘If I’d handed her over to the police, many more lives would have been lost in the future. And, to be honest, what proof did I have that would have stood up in court?’

  ‘What a waste.’

  ‘I must say, Abigail, I should apologise for my behaviour towards you. At one time I was certain you were involved with the Trembaths’.’

  Abigail did not answer.

  ‘I searched your bag when you first arrived at Lobster Rock and found an RAF issue pistol.’

  ‘Oh, didn’t you know, Guthrie? I’m an RAF reserve.’

  ‘No. I wish you had told me,’ he groaned. ‘I could have dropped you from my list of suspects at the start. To think how horrid I was to you.’

  ‘My fault, I should have told you. To be honest, I probably should have returned the gun after training. By the way, where do you want dropping off?’

  ‘The Penventon Hotel, Redruth, please.’

  Retrieving the letter from his satchel that Abigail had given to him earlier, he tore open the envelope and removed the papers inside.

  ‘Redruth? You know you won’t get a train back to St. Ives from there after about quarter to eleven. That’s if you’re thinking of going to the Twilight Zone.’

  ‘I’m staying there for the night. I’ve got to deliver a £395 diamond ring set in white gold.’

  ‘Where are you delivering it to, a safety deposit box?’

  ‘No, I’m taking it to a lady.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Hey, watch the road!’

  ‘A lady. Do you mean your lady, a girlfriend?’

  ‘Well, she’s a lady who I’ve been seeing. We’re meeting at the Penventon; I’ve booked us the honeymoon suite. I didn’t want to get too serious while the job was on.’

  ‘But I thought...’

  ‘Sorry, I should have told you.’

  ‘But I don’t understand.’

  ‘Watch where you’re driving,’ he instructed, as the car swerved towards the other lane.

  ‘But you lived with Katie.’

  He bit his lip, ashamed of the deception.

  ‘Okay, I’ll be honest with you. I did love her in a strange way, the quirky, naïve Katie,’ he confessed. ‘I never knew Suzette, although I wish I had. Perhaps I had seen beyond her facade, who knows.’

  ‘It was her funeral today.’

  ‘Yes, I know. Were there any mourners do you know?’

  ‘I have no idea, they might have let her parents go, I suppose.’

  ‘I had toyed with the idea of going myself, but thought it too hypercritical when I think about what happened.’

  ‘Yes, what really did happen on Clodgy Point that night, you never did tell me?’

  ‘Top secret,’ he laughed, trying to erase the memory.

  ‘So, what would you have done if she had turned out to be innocent, I mean the real Katie, you know, the real Suzette?’

  Before he had the chance to reply Abigail threw another question at him. ‘So is your new fiancé more beautiful than Katie?’

  He was quiet for a moment, as if not certain how to respond. And then his green eyes sparkled, as if he had experienced a sudden revelation.

  ‘Kant, he was a philosopher, and wrote something about the Analytic of the Beautiful.’

  ‘I don’t understand philosophy I’m afraid.’

  ‘No wait, let me explain,’ he smiled, accentuating the dimples in his cheeks. ‘Kant said that beauty isn’t a property of a work of art, or natural phenomenon, but is a state of mind. It is experienced by the imagination and the understanding.’

  ‘They’re going to arrest you.’

  And for a second he seemed melancholy, the smile had vanished, as if it was all too much, even for him. Looking down at the letter he began to read in silence, and then re-read it through again.

  ‘You were like Robin Hood in a funny sort of way. I really wish there was a way out of this for you,’ Abigail sighed despondently.

  Suddenly, Guthrie burst into a fit of laughter, waving the headed piece of paper in the air.

  ‘Why are you so happy at a time like this?’

  ‘I’ve just got a £250,000 cheque from Interpol and the offer of a renewed contract with MI6,’ he grinned. ‘It means, Abigail, that all charges have been dropped. Henry Guthrie OBE, always does find a way out, ha-ha.’

  THE END

  I would like to thank Nick Catford for his research into underground bunkers and airbases, that partially inspired this book.

  THANK YOU FOR READING

  “CATCH THE STINGER, BEFORE IT STINGS YOU!”

  By

  E.R. POMERANSKY

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