Buried in Cornwall

by Janie Bolitho

  ‘The Navy’s open,’ Peter said, looking both ways for traffic before taking Rose’s arm and guiding her across the road. ‘I shall make do with a soft drink but you need something stronger. You can always leave your car where it is.’

  The wind was stiffening. Rose shivered and wondered whether she was about to cry. Kindness sometimes did that to her. Turning the corner she saw the boards advertising all-day opening and bar food. She had eaten there with Jack; the portions were very generous.

  They sat in a corner away from the bar because there were customers whom Rose knew and she was not up to making small talk. A tape was playing which meant their conversation could not be overheard. She accepted gratefully the rather large brandy Peter had ordered for her without consultation.

  ‘Right. What was that all about back there?’

  Rose told him, her embarrassment no less acute for having repeated the story several times before.

  Peter stroked his chin thoughtfully. ‘Mm. I had heard much the same thing, although not quite as concise an account of it. It puzzled me that you’d want to go back there after what they found. Good heavens, Rose, it couldn’t have been whoever killed that unknown victim, could it? Maybe they didn’t want anyone snooping around the area.’

  ‘I was hardly snooping.’

  ‘No. And it was a stupid idea. The last thing they’d do is to draw attention to it. Forget I said it. No one knew she was down there, you couldn’t have done any harm just painting.’ He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘Then that means there has to be another reason.’

  ‘That’s not what the police think.’

  ‘They’re not infallible, Rose. Tell me, what do you think?’

  ‘I agree with you. Peter, tell me honestly, why were you there?’

  ‘I have been honest. I heard what you said yesterday at Maddy’s and the way you made a point of letting everyone know where you’d be. After you left I heard a lot more. Two unexplained murders and a middle-aged lady – who, if you don’t mind me saying, looks nowhere near her age – hearing voices and intending to return to a place where she is likely to be in danger. Apart from that, an instinct told me this same lady and Maddy Duke are keeping some great secret. I was concerned for your safety, no more than that. And as far as I know there seems to be no one else to look out for you. I’ve also been informed that you have a knack of landing yourself in trouble. Does that explanation satisfy you?’

  ‘It’ll have to, but I didn’t know you cared.’ Rose bit her lip. ‘I’m sorry. Forgive me, that was extremely rude.’

  ‘It’s shock. I wouldn’t have put you down as rude. Outspoken, certainly, and with a excess of curiosity, but not rude.’ He sipped his grapefruit juice and pulled a face. Sitting with one elbow on the table, his chin in his hand, he studied Rose’s profile.

  She was aware of his scrutiny and felt like a girl on her first date. ‘Let me buy you another drink,’ she said decisively, anxious to escape his gaze and what it was doing to her.

  ‘No. Really. You have one if you like. I’ll wait until I’m home and can have a taste of the real thing.’

  ‘I’ll leave it in that case. I’m already feeling a bit light-headed.’

  ‘If you’re not up to walking, I can give you a lift.’

  ‘Thank you. I’d be very grateful.’ Peter was the right age to have been involved with the girl down the mine and it wouldn’t surprise her if he had known Jenny as more than a friend. It was only an impression, but Rose guessed that Peter Dawson was something of what her father would describe as a ‘ladies’ man’. He certainly had charisma and charm. He might not mix much but she sensed a warm personality behind the outward persona, and she found she was interested in what he had to say.

  ‘Is it serious between you and Nick?’ he asked as they made their way back to his car.

  ‘A relationship that doesn’t exist can hardly be described as serious,’ she told him solemnly.

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘Ah, what?’

  ‘Just interested. Rose, please don’t think I’m an interfering old fool, but be careful of Nick.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘It’s hard to say. I’ve known him a good many years now. He’s talented, extremely so, but he has a touch of the artistic temperament.’

  ‘People use that as an excuse for bad behaviour.’ They stood at the kerb. A line of cars approached from both directions.

  ‘Do they? It hadn’t occurred to me. Perhaps I had better look to some of my own bad habits. I don’t mean he’s a threat to you, it’s just that he’s never settled down. I think Jenny was the longest relationship he’s ever had.’

  ‘You’re not married or living with anyone.’

  ‘No. But I’m different.’ He laughed when he saw Rose’s cynical grimace. ‘Of course, we all like to think that. But I know I have no staying power. The women I meet, and please don’t take offence, bore me within a very short time. It’s a lack in me, not them, you understand. I enjoy being solitary, I love not having to worry about anything other than my work. I walk or paint or read or eat Or drink whenever the mood takes me. It would take a very unusual woman to put up with my selfishness. Yes,’ he said, as if it had only just occurred to him, ‘that’s what it is. I won’t allow myself to be changed or to fit in with anyone else’s plans.’

  There was a gap in the traffic and they were able to cross the road. Rose guessed he was saying it for her benefit, that he had known his faults for many years.

  ‘I’m a little like that myself these days.’

  ‘It must’ve been hard, losing your husband.’

  ‘There are no words to describe what I felt. You see, we were lucky, our marriage worked. We sort of, I don’t know, fitted each other.’

  ‘Children?’

  ‘None, but it didn’t seem to matter. Anyway, since then I’ve pleased myself too.’ She smiled and was rewarded with a conspiratorial grin. ‘I have to admit I have the same problem with men. Not that there’ve been many, but the few I’ve met have tried to pin me down. They’re possessive. David wasn’t like that, we each had our own lives as well as each other.’

  ‘Then I doubt you’ll find a replacement.’

  ‘I don’t intend to.’

  Peter bent to unlock the car and they got in. ‘Nick isn’t possessive, not in the usual way,’ he continued. ‘He’d allow you freedom, but he’d want to know how you used it. Does that make sense?’

  ‘Peter?’ Rose looked at him steadily. ‘Could he have killed Jenny?’

  ‘That idea has crossed my mind. However, the police haven’t arrested him.’

  ‘They suspect me, too.’

  ‘So I had heard.’

  ‘Do you think it’s true?’

  ‘My judgement is not always infallible, Rose, but if you killed Jenny Manders then I’m the Queen Mother.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said with such warmth that she felt tears of relief behind her eyelids.

  ‘Now we’d better make tracks. Do up your seat belt.’

  ‘What do you mean about Nick? Apart from his being a little possessive?’

  ‘He can be moody. He likes his own way. God, we’re a selfish lot when you think about it. He doesn’t believe women are equal and, apart from Jenny who was far stronger than most people gave her credit for, he’ll bleed you dry emotionally if you let him.’

  ‘Do you believe women are equal?’ Rose was fascinated to learn that she was more interested in Peter Dawson’s personality at that moment than Nick’s.

  ‘There’s nothing to believe. All men are equal, and I use that term figuratively. It’s not something I’ve come to a decision about, I’ve always known it. You only have to look around you. In some situations it’s the female who keeps things going and in others the male. My own parents were a perfect example of the former.’

  Rose would have liked to ask in what way but they had reached Newlyn and Peter was taking the sharp bend on the bridge and she did not wish to distract him. He dropped her at the b
ottom of her drive and made no attempt to get her to invite him in.

  ‘Take care, Rose,’ he said through the open window of the car.

  ‘I will.’

  I need something to eat, she decided, and began to arrange the ingredients for something quick and easy. Pasta with a bacon, tomato and garlic sauce. The onions were sweating and their mouthwatering smell made Rose aware just how hungry she was. As she slid them around the pan she thought of Nick. His moodiness had not gone unobserved. How much more pronounced would it have become if she had got to know him better? He had a temper, too, although he kept it hidden.

  Lying in bed she listened to the wind and the familiar sounds of the house settling down: the creak of a stair, the ticking of the heating system as it cooled and the hum of the washing-machine as it reached the end of its cycle.

  She had spoken to Maddy, who had been able to provide some of the information Rose wanted. It was certainly food for thought. But for now there was the party to think of and the less metaphorical sort of food to consider.

  CHAPTER TEN

  ‘Oh, to hell with it.’ Inspector Jack Pearce scowled at the wall. Missing Rose was one thing, his personal decision not to contact her was another. There was nothing in the rule book to prevent him speaking to her, only his own sense of what was right. What he wanted, what he had hoped for was that Rose, in her distress, would contact him, use his shoulder to lean on. He had forgotten how perversely stubborn she could be.

  Each of Jenny’s friends had had the opportunity and possibly the motive to kill her but, as motives went, they were not strong. He was ashamed to admit that if Rose were not involved he would have taken it in his stride. It was, after all, what he was trained to do. If only there were some easy solution. Mostly there was, he thought, it was knowing where to look for it which was the hard part.

  The forensic team was continuing its assiduous work and would not be hurried. Jack knew better than to pester them, it often provoked a slower response.

  Against his better judgement he decided he would speak to Rose after all. Apart from an edge to the wind, it was a lovely day. He telephoned first because Rose might be taking advantage of it. He wanted to hear her theory – that she would have one he was in no doubt – but he had to be content to leave a message on her answering machine.

  Towards the end of the day another piece of evidence was to hand. The Met had confirmed that the woman they had been asked to interview had not been seen for several days but they were continuing in their efforts to find her. Rather than disappointment, Jack felt only relief. This proved that he was on the right lines.

  Feeling the need for a quiet evening in, Jack was about to leave for home when Rose returned his call. His spirits lifted until she spoke.

  ‘I got your message. Is this business or pleasure?’

  ‘A bit of both. Are you doing anything this evening?’

  ‘Yes. Laura’s coming over to help with the food.’

  ‘The food? Oh, your party. Never mind, it wasn’t important.’

  ‘Will you be coming, Jack?’

  ‘Is that a devious way of asking if an arrest is imminent?’ Her light laugh cheered him; her initial words had sounded hostile.

  ‘Well, is it?’

  ‘No. But hopefully it won’t be long.’ Jack could almost feel her curiosity oozing down the line and pictured the furrow which dissected her forehead when she frowned with frustration.

  ‘I wonder if you’re thinking along the same lines as me?’

  ‘Rose …?’

  ‘Sorry, Jack. Must go. Laura’s here.’ Only when she put down the phone did she remember the book Nick had so recently given to Jennifer Manders. Did Jack know that the relationship had continued long after everyone thought it was over? If she told him, Nick would think that she had been acting like a woman scorned because she had been jealous. She decided to think about it. Nick may have volunteered the information already and Jack would start doubting her loyalty to her friends. Rose wondered why that should matter any more.

  ‘Damn the woman.’ Jack was listening to the dialling tone. He slammed down the phone with a further curse, wondering what Rose was up to.

  Peter Dawson was sprawled on his sofa quite unconcerned that two men were searching his cottage and packing a few of his clothes into plastic bags. He reached out and poured himself a malt whisky although it was only ten thirty in the morning. He was quite unconcerned about that too.

  ‘Do you always drink so early?’ one of the men asked.

  ‘If I choose to.’ He smiled with a lift of an eyebrow as he read their minds.

  Had Rose reported his having been at the mine or had they learnt of Jenny’s visits? It did not take long to establish it was the latter.

  ‘Why didn’t you come forward at the beginning?’ one of the men asked. ‘We know Miss Manders used to come here.’

  ‘Your request was for information concerning her whereabouts from after the time she left Stella Jackson’s gallery. I hadn’t seen her for several weeks therefore I’d have been wasting your time.’ He had no objection to them poking around, there was nothing for them to find, but he was fed up with their company and he needed a chance to think. It would have been nice to stride out across the cliffs and gaze at the sea, to smell the salt and the heady scent of grass as he crushed it beneath his feet. Instead he had to go to Camborne to make a statement. Peter couldn’t understand why, with two of them present, he was unable to do so in the comfort of his own home.

  One of the men stared suspiciously at Peter’s cassette player.

  ‘You won’t find any traces of soil or anything. I wiped it clean when I got back from the mine.’

  ‘What?’ Both men spoke in unison.

  Peter laughed mirthlessly. ‘Just my little attempt at humour. Please, carry on.’ He waved his hand to indicate the entire contents of the room. ‘I’d be grateful if you’d leave the settee.’

  He felt quite tired once they had left. Fingerprints had been taken, which he had explained was also a waste of time. They had come out with their trite phrase of ‘for the purposes of elimination’ but all the same he knew that there would probably be some of Jenny’s around the place. He looked after himself and-kept the cottage clean but not to such an extent that he went around wiping paintwork. He had already admitted that Jenny had been an occasional visitor but they had gone ahead with, their dust anyway. He threw the receipt for the belongings they had taken on to the table.

  Later that day, having abstained from drinking more whisky and substituted it with black coffee, he drove over to Camborne, arriving punctually for his appointment. The interview seemed interminably long. First there was the rigmarole of ensuring he understood what was going on then the tediousness of the questions themselves.

  ‘How well do you know Mrs Trevelyan?’ he was asked, towards the end.

  Because he realised that Rose was likely to be questioned he saw no reason not to tell them that he had encountered her at the mine. Peter said he had only followed her because he was worried about her safety. Two pairs of eyebrows were raised sceptically.

  ‘In what way were you worried, Mr Dawson? You’ve just said you hardly know her.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he replied truthfully. ‘I just had a feeling that she oughtn’t to be out there on her own.’

  ‘An odd thing to think without a reason?’

  ‘I didn’t think, I said it was just a feeling.’

  ‘Are you having a relationship with Mrs Trevelyan?’

  ‘Good heavens, no.’ The question shook him. It was an honest answer but they seemed not to believe him.

  ‘But Nicholas Pascoe is.’ This came out as a statement.

  ‘No, I don’t think so. As far as I’m aware they’re friends, no more than that. I think you should ask the lady herself if you really need to know.’

  ‘Are you seeing anyone at the moment?’

  ‘Seeing anyone?’ His tone was mocking.

  ‘A girlfriend? Mistress, wha
tever?’

  ‘No. Not at the moment.’

  ‘Not since Jennifer Manders.’

  Peter’s jaw tightened imperceptibly. ‘She was not a girlfriend. It was a very casual thing.’

  ‘Casual?’

  ‘Look, I told you earlier, she came to the house on a few occasions. We enjoyed each other sexually, if that’s what you’re after, but it was no more than that. We had nothing else in common other than a desire for sex without emotional ties.’

  ‘That may have been your wish, Mr Dawson, but most women think differently.’

  ‘Do they? Perhaps in your experience, not in mine. I’m sure you’ll find I was not alone in having a quick tumble with her.’

  ‘Meaning what?’

  ‘I suggest you ask around. My word is only hearsay and that, I believe, is not permissible evidence. Now, your men have ransacked my home, taken away certain of my possessions, and I’ve spent enough of the afternoon here. I would like to leave now.’

  ‘You are perfectly free to do so, sir. Just one more question? If you’re so keen to be emotionally free of women, maybe Miss Manders became more demanding than you cared for. Did you kill her?’

  Peter sighed. ‘No. I did not kill Jennifer Manders.’

  ‘Thank you. Someone’ll show you out.’

  When he left he felt restless. A walk on the cliffs was out of the question now. It would be dark before he reached home and, as there was no moon, it would be foolhardy to risk the narrow path so close to the edge. Perhaps he would get blind drunk and wash the awfulness of the day from his system. On the other hand he could ring Rose Trevelyan to compare notes. This he did from a public telephone box before deciding whether it was worth going home. She answered on the second ring as if she had been waiting for a call. But not from him.