Plotted in Cornwall

by Janie Bolitho

  A female detective constable accompanied him. During the journey they discussed what they knew. They had learned little from the holdall, which had been removed from the lock-up and was being held as evidence – of what, he still had no idea. It had contained enough clothes for three or four days, Jordan’s passport and his driving licence. What puzzled Jack was why the latter two items were there at all. Surely they would have been packed safely along with all the family documents? And if the bag was meant to be hidden, why place it somewhere where it was likely to be found? Was it supposed to be found, so that the man would be assumed to be dead?

  They had a clear run and reached the old farmhouse early. Louisa Jordan answered the door. Her appearance, and that of the interior of the house, surprised Jack. Tasteful, he decided, and none of it had come cheaply. They were shown into the large room at the back where a fire blazed in the grate. The day was dull and lifeless but the view must be wonderful when the sun shone.

  ‘My sister, Wendy,’ Louisa said as she opened the door. ‘Would you like some coffee, Inspector? Constable?’

  ‘Not for me, I’m fine, thanks,’ Jack said. DC Maunder shook her head.

  ‘Then please sit down and tell us why you feel the need to speak to us.’

  Louisa chose to sit next to her sister on the settee. Jack wondered if this was to put on a show of solidarity as he took a seat by the fire. Susan Maunder took a chair out of sight of the sisters. She was aware she would not be required to say anything, she was there as a chaperone more than anything else. ‘Your brother, Roger Penhaligon, has been in touch with us. It seems he’s still not satisfied with the way in which your husband disappeared. Can you shed any light on it?’

  Louisa sighed as if she was tired of going over it. ‘None whatsoever. As far as I was aware we were moving here. We’d packed, everything was ready. Frank gave no indication whatsoever that he wasn’t coming with me. I’d spent the morning in Penzance; when I returned he’d left. His bag was gone and I’ve never heard from him since. Later, Wendy sold up and joined me.’

  ‘You didn’t consider contacting us at the time?’

  ‘No. I knew my husband. He was a selfish man, it was not untypical of him, leaving me to pick up the pieces. I truly believed he used the move as his chance to escape. Miranda was set to leave home, I thought he felt he no longer had any responsibilities as far as we were concerned, and this house was paid for and in my name.’

  ‘Did you often have to do so, pick up the pieces?’

  Louisa bit her lip. ‘Financially, yes, on several occasions.’

  ‘I have to ask, was there another woman?’

  Wendy seemed about to speak but shook her head and remained silent.

  ‘There were several over the years. Nothing I considered to be serious. Not until then. I’ve always assumed he’d finally met someone he really wanted to be with.’

  ‘Mrs Jordan, if that was the case why not tell you? Why not apply for a divorce in the ordinary way?’

  ‘I really don’t know.’

  ‘We’ve found his bag.’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘The bag he packed on the day he left.’

  ‘How could you have? And how do you know it’s his?’

  ‘It contains his passport and driving licence.’

  She stared at the fire as she took this information in. ‘Am I allowed to know where you found it?’

  She’s flustered, Jack thought, but not as much as her sister. Wendy was pale, one hand to her throat. ‘In the lock-up where he kept the boat.’

  ‘But I thought he’d sold the garage. He told me he was going to.’

  ‘Apparently not. Nor do we know what’s happened to the boat. Have you any idea?’

  ‘No. And I don’t understand any of this. Why on earth did you go to the lock-up?’

  Jack hesitated before answering. ‘It was your daughter who led us to it, along with her cousin.’

  Several seconds of silence followed this remark. ‘Was Mrs Trevelyan involved in any way?’ Wendy asked.

  ‘She was with them, yes.’ He had not meant to bring Rose into this but he saw that his reply had rattled the women further and that might not be a bad thing.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘She had invited them to lunch. Somehow or other the subject came up and they decided to take a look.’ He hoped the sisters wouldn’t ask how they had got in.

  ‘It seems to me everyone is more concerned about Frank’s whereabouts than I am myself. But you were right to come here. It does seem odd, him leaving his passport. Inspector Pearce, are you saying you think that something may have happened to him?’

  ‘In view of the concern of the rest of your family, we have to consider that possibility.’

  ‘I see.’

  Jack studied her. She was visibly shaken, as if the idea had never occurred to her, yet Rose believed all three women were of the same opinion and each suspected the other.

  ‘Could it be that he went out in his boat, one last trip before he sold it, and got careless because he couldn’t bear the thought of losing it?’ Louisa suggested.

  ‘At this stage anything’s possible, but why would he need to sell it at all? It’s not that far from here to the sea.’ Over the previous year and a bit there had been no sighting of any wreckage matching the description of the boat which Miranda had supplied, no body washed up on the shore, but he might have gone down in an area where the tides were relentless, where the boat or the body would never be recovered. Even so, the wife’s lack of concern at the time was strange. Maybe the boat had been sabotaged, a small hole made in its base. No, he thought, not if Rose was right and it was moored in the harbour or elsewhere. It would have sunk before he got to it. ‘Where was the boat when you moved?’

  ‘If he hadn’t sold it, the Louisa would have been in Penzance harbour. Unless, of course, he took her with him.’

  ‘If your husband was dead, how would you stand financially, Mrs Jordan?’

  ‘That’s an impertinent question, Inspector, but if it pleases you, I’ll answer it. Nothing would change. This house and its contents are mine. Money slipped through Frank’s hands like water. He had far more to gain by my death. We are not divorced, I assume half of everything would be his.’

  True, Jack realised. But if Jordan was profligate and had wanted a divorce he, too, would be aware of how he stood financially. Had he asked his wife for one? Had she refused and decided to take matters into her own hands? Rose had been right, there was something these women didn’t want him to know. ‘Your daughter’s not with you at present?’

  ‘No. We were expecting her back this morning. She’s obviously prolonged her visit.’

  Which meant Miranda had not been in contact with them, had not warned them or confided in them. Was she afraid to return? Jack knew that two officers had gone to interview her and Joel first thing that morning. She could have made it back by now. ‘I think we’ll leave it at that, for the time being,’ he added, letting them know he was not completely satisfied.

  ‘We could have told you all this over the telephone,’ Louisa said as she stood.

  Jack made no response. He would not have been able to read their body language over the telephone. They were guilty of something but whether it was murder or not he had no idea. He had had no excuse to ask about the deep freeze. Only Rose could have told him it was there and they would not have thanked her for that. He stood. DC Maunder followed suit and they left the house. ‘A strange pair,’ she commented when they were in the car.

  ‘You can say that again.’ How on earth does Rose meet these people? he asked himself as he started the engine. His mind on the unsatisfactory interview he failed to notice the beauty of the countryside. But beside him, his companion took it all in. Like the Inspector she had once been transferred but found she could not wait to return to her native Cornwall again.

  Back at the station Jack sat down to read the statements provided by Miranda and Joel.

  Half an hour later he kn
ew they contained no more than what they had said the previous evening. Which led him back to Anna. He still had no idea what he would say to her at the end of the week or how he could explain to Rose the reason she was not accompanying him to the party on Christmas Eve.

  Rose was in St Ives still awaiting inspiration as far as a present for her parents was concerned. By mid-morning on Sunday she had given up and was sipping coffee in one of the numerous cafés. She had forgotten so many of the shops would be open that day. It had clouded over but it was warm inside and the smell of freshly baked pasties filled the air. They’ll be here tomorrow, she thought, I’ll have to find something.

  She left the café and started again, strolling slowly around the ancient, narrow streets of one of the most visited fishing ports in England. Surely she’d find something suitable in one of the small shops. At one time horses and carts had drawn thousands of tons of pilchards through those narrow streets and up the steep and winding hills. These days those same streets were thronged with tourists in the summer, but they were no quieter back in the 1800s and during the first half of the twentieth century. Rose recalled an eyewitness account she had read in the museum in a street called Wheal Dream about one occasion when a hundred thousand hogsheads were in St Ives Bay at one time. A hogshead held three thousand fish. Trumpets had roared to alert the fishermen that the pilchards were coming into the bay. A network of ‘seins’ was spread across the water and boats span about like a regatta. The women would have been waiting to pack and carry the fish. Women. Rose’s thoughts reverted to Miranda and Joel. Jack, or someone, would have spoken to them by now and, presumably, to Louisa and Wendy Maybe he’d ring her tonight, maybe he’d even call in. She stopped. There in a window was a black woollen cardigan with silver threads running through it. Just the sort of thing her mother loved. She went inside and bought it.

  Inspiration struck again. In a men’s clothing shop she saw a hat. A sort of trilby in shades of dark green and tan. A small feather was stuck in its band. It was almost identical to the battered one her father wore. Fortunately she knew his hat size. I just hope he won’t be upset when Mum insists he throws the old one out, she thought while she waited for it to be wrapped in tissue paper and placed in a bag.

  With a clear conscience she drove home. There was no present for Jack this year, neither did she expect one in return. The small gifts she had bought for her friends were already wrapped ready to be handed out on Christmas Eve.

  There was plenty to do in the house and she had adjusted to the fact that no painting would be done until after Christmas. She would miss it, but return to it fresher for the break.

  The red light on the answering-machine remained glowing steadily. No one had telephoned. Good. She pulled the hoover out from under the stairs and got down to some serious housework.

  By six thirty there was nothing more to be done other than to cook herself a meal and relax. And then the telephone did ring. Jack, she thought as she hurried to answer it.

  ‘Mrs Trevelyan, it’s Louisa. Is Miranda with you by any chance?’

  ‘No. She was here yesterday and I understood she was staying with Joel last night.’ There was no point in pretending she didn’t know, no point in more deceit. Jack would have explained the situation to them anyway.

  ‘Ah. Then she’s probably still there. We had a detective here this morning. It was to do with you finding Frank’s bag. What’s going on, Mrs Trevelyan? Why are you so concerned with our family?’

  How could she answer? Not by telling the truth, but nor could she drop Miranda in it. ‘I think your daughter’s still worried about her father. She wanted to see if the boat was still there. She didn’t believe he would sell it.’

  ‘You broke in?’

  ‘I—’

  ‘There’s no need to answer. You must have done. Frank had the only set of keys.’

  If that was true then only Frank could have put the bag there. Wrong. If Frank had been killed whoever killed him could easily have taken the keys. But why leave it there where there was a chance of it being found? I’m sick of this, Rose thought wishing she had taken Barry’s advice and kept out of it from the beginning, wishing, in fact, she had never been commissioned to paint that portrait.

  ‘I think we should talk. Will you be free tomorrow morning?’

  ‘I’m expecting visitors after lunch.’

  ‘I’ll come to you. I don’t expect you to drive up here. I don’t suppose what we have to say will take up too much of your time.’

  ‘Why not talk now?’

  ‘I’d prefer to do it face to face. If it isn’t convenient, please say so and I’ll make it another time.’

  Rose swore under her breath. She knew she could not miss out on the opportunity. ‘That’s fine. As early as you like.’

  ‘I’ll try and be there by nine thirty.’

  No sooner had she hung up than Jack rang. Some days were like that, all or nothing.

  ‘There’s something going on,’ he said without preamble, ‘but I’m damned if I know what it is. We’ve searched the bag. There’s nothing in there to give us a clue and there was nothing else in the lock-up.’

  ‘What did you make of my ex-clients?’

  ‘They were hiding something.’

  ‘Did you mention the portrait, did you ask them the real reason why they changed their minds?’

  ‘No. This was just an informal chat.’

  ‘But what are you going to do?’

  ‘You tell me, Rose. It’s not as if we have a body.’

  ‘You don’t need one to conduct a murder inquiry.’

  ‘I do happen to be aware of that. Look, I’ve had a hard day. Let’s leave it until the 24th. We can catch up then.’

  Not with Anna around, she thought, unaware that Anna would not now be coming. ‘Okay. See you soon.’ She had hung up before she realised she had not mentioned Louisa’s call.

  Her parents would have eaten lunch on the way – they always took the drive down from Gloucestershire slowly, setting off early and stopping at least twice on the way – therefore Rose had nothing to do until their arrival, but she still resented the fact that Louisa would be taking up part of the morning which she could have put to better use in her attic workroom.

  However, Louisa arrived promptly at nine twenty-five. Unlike her sister she came to the front of the house, shaking rain from her coat as Rose tugged at the swollen door. ‘Thank you for agreeing to see me,’ Louisa said as she followed Rose into the sitting-room.

  ‘Coffee?’ she asked, thinking she was seeing a fair amount of the whole family recently.

  ‘If it’s no trouble.’

  Prepared in advance, the pot was full. Rose laid out some biscuits and carried the tray across the hallway. Louisa, like everyone who came to the house, stood in the window admiring the view. ‘I miss it,’ she said, turning to Rose. ‘I didn’t realise how much a part of me it was. Still, I love the new house and I don’t regret moving. It’s so unbelievably peaceful.’

  Rose said nothing. She would allow a few minutes of small talk then ask why she was really there.

  ‘I’ll get to the point, Rose. I feel I owe you an explanation regarding the portrait. Miranda had gone, we didn’t know where. We both love her, Wendy and I, we love her very much. I had no idea she’d come home as she did, no idea why she left, really, other than what she said in her note. She obviously wasn’t as happy at home as I’d always believed. We wanted it done for her, we were going to leave it to her, something to remember us by. When she came home it no longer seemed important, not when she was there in the flesh. It might sound odd to you, in fact, I’m sure it does, but that’s the truth.’

  Partly, Rose thought, but not all of it. She leaned over to pour the coffee and handed a cup to Louisa. ‘Why not finish it anyway?’

  ‘Maybe, maybe sometime in the future. Things have changed, you see.’

  ‘I want you to know I didn’t deliberately become involved with your family. As I told you before, it was
pure coincidence that I met Joel and, consequently, his parents. And Miranda came to me, I didn’t seek her out.’

  ‘I know that, she told me. What did she want to speak to you about?’

  ‘About Joel.’

  ‘Not about her father?’

  ‘No, not initially. That subject only came up on Saturday. She was worried, she still can’t understand why he left.’

  ‘No, but Miranda didn’t know him as I did. They rubbed along together, but Frank loved her more than she did him. She would never allow herself to get to know him properly. For all his faults he had a good side. He was an exciting man to be with, he always made you feel alive. He took risks.’ She shrugged. ‘Maybe he took one too many.’

  The past tense, Rose thought. Was it relevant or simply a figure of speech because she hadn’t seen him for such a long time? ‘What sort of risks?’

  ‘Financial ones. Sometimes they paid off, latterly they didn’t. The police seem to think something may have happened to him.’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘I don’t know what to think, Rose. Perhaps he was in deeper than I thought and he killed himself.’ She shook her head. ‘No. I just can’t see Frank doing that, he wasn’t the type.’

  There was no type, as Louisa put it. Many families believed suicide was out of the question when people they knew had taken their own lives. It was a possibility. But if so, why were the women so unprepared to be honest? Why hadn’t anyone made a fuss at the time?

  ‘And now, all this, with the police.’ Louisa pulled a tissue from her handbag and wiped her eyes. The bag was open on the floor. A stamped envelope caught Rose’s eye. ‘If only he’d written, or left a note. You probably think I was callous not going to the police at the time, but there hasn’t been a day when I’ve not hoped to hear something. I’ve always loved that man, I still do.’

  ‘What would’ve happened if he had come back and found Wendy living with you?’

  ‘I’d have asked her to leave. Frank would never have put up with that.’

  Rose poured more coffee. Nothing the woman said rang true. Why allow her sister to move in so quickly when she may have had to ask her to leave again? It was hardly fair on Wendy who, she assumed, was unaware of what her fate would have been.