A Cornish Revenge (The Loveday Ross Cornish Mysteries Book 1) (11 page)

The office she was being led through was noisy and buzzing. Some people had phones clamped to their ears, others tapped busily into computers, while the rest seemed to be reading or thumbing through papers on their desks. Loveday recognised a few of the faces that turned in her direction as she followed the woman through the CID section, and some of them nodded to her.

  The door to DI Kitto’s office was open and she could hear his voice as he sat at his desk talking to someone on the phone. He looked up as they entered and signaled for Loveday to take the vacant chair opposite.

Loveday imagined she had seen the trace of a smile as he ended his conversation and put the phone down, but his look was curious. Loveday fished the keys out of her bag and put them on the desk between them. Sam raised an eyebrow.

  ‘They’re the keys to the Bentine’s boat…I thought you should have them.’

Sam sat up, staring at the two small keys on the key ring, but made no move to touch them.

  ‘Just how did you come by these?’ He met Loveday’s eyes and his expression was hostile.

  ‘Don’t shoot the messenger. I’m just delivering them.’ She shuffled uneasily in her chair. The keys were obviously important. ‘Cassie, my landlady,’ she explained, ‘worked for Magdalene Bentine - or Carruthers, as she calls herself professionally. Anyway she runs this design business refurbishing the interiors of yachts. Magdalene was a client. Cassie had the keys last weekend to put the finishing touches to the refurb but forgot to hand them back when we went to see her that day.’

  Sam’s look was incredulous. ‘You’re telling me that your landlady has had these keys all this time and never thought they might be important?’ His voice was rising and he was making an effort to control his anger.

Loveday looked up. Was it possible that DI Kitto had not known about the Blue Lady? Surely not. His team was questioning everybody concerned with the couple. She stared at the angry brown eyes.

  ‘You did know about the Blue Lady, didn’t you?’

  The muscles along Sam’s jaw were working. He was trying to control his fury. ‘You still haven’t explained how you come to be in possession of these keys.’

  Loveday shrugged. ‘I was delivering them for Cassie, but when I got to the Bentines' house this morning Magdalene was being driven away by some of your lot.’

  His eyebrows rose a fraction and Loveday jumped to the defence of her friend. ‘Cassie’s very good at what she does. She showed me a picture of the Blue Lady’s interior before the makeover. The difference she made was amazing.’

  Sam shook his head in disbelief. ‘You’ve been
on
this boat?’

  ‘Cassie took me down to Falmouth Marina to see how the other half live.’

He was watching her, his brows knitted, and Loveday continued uncomfortably, ‘She had a few things to check out on board before handing the boat back to her client. She just wanted some company. What was the harm in that?’  

  ‘Are you forgetting that the owner of that boat has been murdered?’

  The significance was not lost on Loveday. ‘But we didn’t know then about the connection with Bentine,’ she reasoned. ‘At that point he had not been identified as the murder victim…and in any case, Cassie only knew her client as Magdalene Carruthers.’

  ‘So,’ Sam said, his eyes still glinting fury. ‘The pair of you were stumbling about on the boat…touching things…moving things about?’ he released a long exasperated sigh and reached for his phone.

  ‘Jenny? Can you come through?

  He replaced the receiver but the phone immediately rang again. It was the front desk. He looked at Loveday as he asked the caller to hold. ‘You’ll have to be fingerprinted – you and your friend…if you don’t have any objections, that is.’

His tone left little option for objection. Loveday knew it was necessary to eliminate her and Cassie from the police investigation. She nodded as the officer he addressed as Jenny appeared, and was instructed to organise the taking of her fingerprints.

  Sam watched his detective lead Loveday out of his office. ‘Send him up,’ he instructed into the phone. But a tiny pang of guilt had crept in as he watched the women leave. It wasn’t the Loveday’s fault if his team was so blundering they couldn’t even discover basic facts…like the affluent Bentines owning a yacht! They should have known about the boat.
He
should have known about it. Heads would roll for this one, and he had a feeling his would be first.


The keys still lay where Loveday had placed them on his desk. He got up and went to the door and beckoned to Will to come through.

  ‘Boss?’ Will said, following Sam back into his office.

  Sam pointed to the keys. ‘The keys are for Bentine’s boat. He has a bloody boat, Will…and none of us knew about it!

  Will hissed an expletive and put up his hands defensively. ‘Sorry, boss. How did we miss that?’

  ‘That’s what I’ll be asking…I promise you,’ Sam warned, ‘…not to mention them.’ He jerked a thumb upwards in the direction of the top brass who resided on the top floor of the building.  He took a deep breath to control his temper. ‘Get these checked for prints – and every other bloody check you can think of. Then I want you and the rest of the team down at the Falmouth marina.

  ‘What about Magdalene Bentine?’ he asked. ‘What do you want us to do about her, boss?’

  Sam had been on the point of going through to interview Magdalene himself, when Loveday turned up. ‘Well for a start I’ll be asking why she didn’t tell us about that damned boat. Has she said anything else yet?’

  Will shrugged, ‘Not a thing. She’s got her solicitor with her now…refused to be interviewed until he got here.’ 

  Sam frowned. ‘The front office is sending someone up to see us. Says he has information about the case. He’s a vicar.’

  Will’s eyebrows rose.

  ‘I think we should see him before I interview Mrs Bentine,’ Sam said. 

CHAPTER TEN

The man in the dog collar gave Loveday a cursory nod as he passed her in the corridor. Her eyes fell to the visitor’s card pinned to his jacket lapel.
The Rev Martin Foyle.

She frowned, trying to work out why the name should seem familiar. There would be plenty of men called Martin in Cornwall, but she’d seen the name recently. Then it came to her… Magdalene’s mobile phone that day in her house. The name she had moved so quickly to cancel before Loveday or Cassie saw it was, Martin. But she'd no reason to believe it was this man. On the other hand, it had been a vicar she’d noticed sitting outside Magdalene’s house that morning. It had to be more than a co-incidence.

  ‘Mr Foyle?’ Sam smiled as he stood to greet his visitor, extending his hand to indicate he should take the chair so recently vacated by Loveday. ‘You have some information for us?’

  Martin cleared his throat and glanced uneasily at Will, who had taken a place by the window. The tiny office seemed crowded and Martin felt a rising sense of claustrophobia. He ran a finger around the inside of his dog collar and gave Sam an appealing look. ‘Can we speak…’ he glanced again at Will.  ‘…in private?’

  Sam nodded for Will to leave the room and he went out, closing the door behind him.  Sam settled into his chair. But for the dog collar he would never have taken Martin Foyle for a clergyman. He was too big for a start. Vicars in his day were older…smaller. He chided himself for the ridiculous notion. But the man was too tanned, too good looking…and a lot younger than Sam. Things were different now and dusty old academics in the pulpit were a thing of the past. Young clergymen attracted young congregations. As he watched him, the Rev Martin Foyle steeled himself to explain the purpose of his visit.

Sam raised an eyebrow. ‘How can we help you, sir?’

  Martin cleared his throat again and pressed tanned fingers to his temples. ‘It’s about Mrs Bentine,’ he said.

  Sam inclined his head, inviting the man to continue.

  ‘We’re friends, you see.’ He spoke hesitantly.

  ‘Friends?’

  Martin’s mouth was dry. He felt uncomfortable under the policeman’s scrutiny. ‘She’s here, isn’t she…here at the police station?

‘You think she had something to do with her husband’s death…Well, she didn’t…she couldn’t have.’

  Now that he’d started he seemed unable to halt the torrent of words that poured out.

‘I should have come in days ago to tell you this. I let her down…let everybody down…my family… His eyes looked wet and he swiped angrily at them.

  Sam said nothing. He knew that to interrupt the man now might result in his clamping up.

  ‘She couldn’t have had anything to do with Paul’s death because…she was not even in Cornwall at the time.’

He looked up and waved a hand at Sam. ‘Oh, I know she told you she was staying with friends in Bodmin, and they probably backed her up…but that was rubbish.’

He paused, as though trying to select the right words. Then looked up defiantly. ‘She lied to you because she was trying to protect me. You see, we were together all last weekend, at the Bell Hotel in Frome. We hardly left our room.’ He shot Sam a guilty glance. ‘I think the staff will remember us.’

  He sat back heavily, as though the revelations had exhausted him. But there was a spark of triumph in his eyes, as if telling his story had somehow purged his soul. He’d come clean about his affair with Magdalene and was feeling better about it.

  ‘Lying to the police is never a good idea,’ Sam said sternly, as he scribbled the Bell Hotel, Frome, on his notepad. ‘Especially when those officers are conducting an enquiry into a particularly callous and vicious murder.’

  Martin flushed. ‘Don’t blame Magdalene…blame me. She lied to protect me…I’m…I’m married.’

  ‘I don’t imagine your congregation would be particularly delighted either to know about your …hmm…extra curricular activities.’ Sam’s brows came down. He’d said too much. It was none of his business what this man got up to in his private life, so long as it didn’t hamper his investigation.

  Martin shook his head. ‘Will you tell them?’ But he didn’t wait for an answer. ‘I don’t suppose it matters much now if you do. My career’s finished…maybe even my marriage. I’ve let everybody down.’ He met Sam’s eyes, ‘I’m not proud of myself.’

  Martin’s shoulders slumped. He looked like a broken man, now. Sam felt sorry for him. ‘If this has no bearing on the case,’ he said stiffly. ‘Then what you have told me needn’t go any further. Of course, it’s up to you what you tell your family.’ He stood and extended his hand, indicating the interview was over.

  Martin held his hand in a firm grip. ‘I don’t suppose I could see Magdalene?’

  Sam shook his head.

  ‘But you will let her go now?’ Martin pleaded. ‘She’s done nothing wrong.’

  ‘If the alibi you have just given her checks out then yes, she will be free to go. She was only ever here to answer a few questions.’

  As the man moved to the door, Sam had a sudden thought. ‘Did you know Paul Bentine, by the way?’

  Martin stared at the floor. How could he forget?

‘I met him once. It wasn’t pleasant,’ he said. ‘I had called at Trenmere one evening when Mags and I both thought Bentine was to be away on business. But he answered the door himself. Magdalene’s the quick thinking one. She rushed in and said she had asked me call to collect some jumble. Then she disappeared upstairs to throw a few things in a bag.

Paul and I were left smiling at each other by the front door. He invited me in and we stood sipping sherry and making small talk. He was asking about the jumble sale, when it was and where, that kind of thing - and grinning’.

He frowned, and looked up at Sam. ‘It was an uncomfortable experience. Then Magdalene came back with some things for me to take away and I finished my sherry and took my leave of them.’

He grimaced. ‘I can still remember how much I was shaking when I got back outside the house.’

  ‘Do you think he suspected there was something going on between his wife and you?’

  ‘I don’t know. It was all a bit surreal. I kept waiting for him to accuse us, but he didn’t, and then I thought he couldn’t know. He wasn’t the kind of man you would want to get on the wrong side of.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He was vindictive. He treated Magdalene very badly.’

  ‘You mean he was violent towards her?’ Magdalene had given his officers no reason to believe she was an abused wife.

  ‘No, his abuse was more subtle, more psychological. He knew how to twist things to cause the most distress. He was a thoroughly horrible man, Inspector…and I’m not surprised that someone murdered him.’

  When Foyle had left, Sam called Will back into his office and repeated the vicar’s story.

  ‘I’ll get it checked out right away, boss,’ he said. ‘What about Mrs Bentine? Do we let her go?’

  Sam had his back to him and was standing at the window watching the traffic filing onto the roundabout below. ‘Let’s see if she fancies a trip to Falmouth,’ he said.

The police forensic team had been sent ahead to do their work before Sam and the others went on board.  Magdalene sat stiffly in the back of the Mazda that Will had collected from the available vehicles in the station car pool.

They hadn’t told her of Martin’s visit but they no longer seemed to be treating her as a suspect. She stared disinterestedly at the fields rushing past. They’d told her she was free to go, but asked if she would take them to the boat.

They’d seemed annoyed she hadn’t mentioned the Blue Lady’s existence. But Magdalene couldn’t see why that was important. What could that possibly have to do with Paul’s murder? It had happened miles away from the marina in Falmouth.

The big good-looking one had been persuasive when he suggested that she should accompany him and the others to the marina. Magdalene just wanted the whole horrifying nightmare to be over. If taking them to the marina and showing them the Blue Lady would help, then she was happy to do it.

  They avoided the congested, Church Street and Arwenack Street, where most of Falmouth’s shops were situated. The pubs strung out along their long lengths were favoured by the tourists because of their breathtaking views across the harbour to Flushing and the Carrick Roads. Instead, Will took the back road over the top of Falmouth, cutting down to the harbour and marina at the far end.

Magdalene could now make out the towering mass of two tankers tied up by the quays. A great white cruise ship was alongside another quay, while closer to shore, the masts of yachts bobbed in the marina.

She directed them to the parking area and led the way along the pontoon. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the detectives looking around them at the boats in the marina…taking in the surrounding display of wealth.  She stopped at an end berth and extended a hand towards the vessel bobbing at its mooring rope.

  ‘This is my boat …The Blue Lady,’ she said, but I suppose you already know that.’

  Sam could see movement at the windows and knew that some of the team was still on board.

  It was all Will could do not to release a long, slow whistle. The yacht was beautiful. A sleek hundred grand at least, he estimated. On his wages he probably couldn’t even manage a rowing boat.

A figure in white overalls emerged to greet them. ‘We’re just about finished, sir. It’s fine to go on board, now.’

They stood back, allowing Magdalene to step onto the moving deck, which she did with the confidence of a professional sailor. Sam and Will followed, steadying themselves on the handrail. She had reached the open door and was now waiting for them to descend into the cabin.

  The smell of polished mahogany reached them before they had even climbed down. The Blue Lady’s interior was as luxurious as Sam had imagined. He was not a boat person. His experiences of being afloat were limited to one outing on a tiny motorboat, and that had been for his son, Jack’s, benefit. There had been another rather queasy trip on an angling boat during a holiday spent in Scarborough. The fishing had been good that day, Sam remembered – at lease for everybody else on board. He’d spent most of his time hanging over the side. But what did they expect from a course fisherman. Not even the sumptuous surroundings of the Bentine’s yacht could tempt him back to sea…not for a pleasure trip anyway.

The two forensic officers on board were packing up their equipment and nodded as the others squeezed past them.

‘We’ll be off now, sir,’ one of them said, raising an arm as he climbed the steps to the deck.

‘Thanks chaps,’ Will called after them.

  Sam had already started to look around. ‘Did your husband keep any of his business papers here, Mrs Bentine?’

  ‘No. Why would he? Paul kept all of that stuff under lock and key at home.’ She threw Sam a look that said, ‘You should know, you’ve been through them all.’

  Sam ignored the intended scold as he caught sight of the desk and made his way to it. ‘Mind if we have a look?’

  Magdalene shrugged. ‘Why not? I have nothing to hide. Look where you want to.’ She reached into a cupboard above a tiny gleaming stainless steel hob and produced a jar of coffee. ‘Want some?’ she asked.

Both men nodded their approval and Magdalene produced a kettle from another cupboard, filled it over a dinky little sink and set it to boil on a gas flame.

  Will was busy going though cupboards, opening drawers and checking out the space beneath the seating arrangements that he knew could convert into beds. He was fascinated by the ingenuity of the designers who hadn’t wasted one inch of cabin space.

  ‘I could probably help if I knew what you were looking for,’ Magdalene said as they drank their coffee.

  ‘We’re looking to solve your husband’s murder,’ Sam words were blunt. If they actually knew what they were looking for they might stand a better chance of finding it…of finding anything that would help them.

  Will shot him a look of surprise and Sam immediately regretted his sharpness with the woman. He smiled in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere. ‘We’re almost finished here.’ He hesitated then went on, ‘Is it possible that your husband could have hidden something on the boat?’

  ‘Like what?’

  Sam shrugged. ‘I don’t know…a file perhaps…maybe a diary? We didn’t find one at the house.’

  Magdalene’s brow creased as she tried to think. ‘I’ve never known Paul to use a diary…well not since we moved to Cornwall…He put all his appointments on his computer, but I suppose he could have had a diary. I don’t see why he would want to keep it here.’ She pursed her lips and glanced around the cabin. ‘You’re right, though. He could be quite secretive…liked to make a mystery of things…a bit paranoid about anyone reading his papers. He wasn’t keen on me finding out about any of his little projects, but he always had some deal or other going on.’

  ‘I thought he was retired?’ Will’s head emerged from his inspection of the loo.

  ‘He didn’t practice law any more, if that’s what you mean…not since we left Cambridge.’

  ‘Why did you leave?’ Sam asked.

  ‘Good question,’ Magdalene said. ‘It just didn’t suit Paul to live there any more. But I’ve already told you all this.’