A Cornish Revenge (The Loveday Ross Cornish Mysteries Book 1) (13 page)

As they neared Truro he was remembering a second tiny computer memory stick they’d found in Paul Bentine’s desk drawer. It had been checked, but there were no files or any trace of information ever having been stored on it. Believing it to be a spare, they had simply bagged it, and put it in the evidence box.

But Sam was now picturing the tiny silver key attached to it.  At the time it had been dismissed as of no significance, but now Sam couldn’t wait to get his hands on it again.

   He pulled into Magdalene’s drive and drew up at the front steps. The hall light was on and he nodded towards it. ‘Were you expecting company?’

  Magdalene gave him a stiff-lipped smile. ‘Security light. There’s no-one home.’

  He felt guilty about leaving her alone here and offered to send for a family liaison officer, but she shook her head. ‘No. I’ll be fine. Anyway, I need some time on my own. I’ve a lot of thinking to do.’

  He nodded to her as she got out of the car. ‘I’ll be in touch,’ he called from the open driver’s window as he drove off.

  When he reached the station, Sam headed straight for the Evidence Room. He wanted another look at that computer stick. He was itching to try the key in the lock of Bentine’s box, but something stopped him. Through the evidence bag, his fingers felt a blister in the black lacquered finish. Curious, he turned the box over. It was odd that such an expensive security box would have a blemish. He pressed the blister and a section of the underside slide back, revealing a number pad. So…the key alone would not open this little box of tricks. He pressed the blister again and the panel slide closed, leaving no hint of its existence.

This was definitely one for Arthur Charlton’s forensic team. He checked his watch and was amazed to see it was seven-twenty – more than twelve hours since he had eaten, and then he’s had only a half slice of toast.

He checked that the box had been dusted for fingerprints then called for someone to deliver it, along with the key, to the forensics’ lab before punching Charlton’s home number into his phone. He knew it was a big call to expect Charlie, as he was affectionately known to one and all, to turn out at night – even if it was urgent. But this was Charlie, and it wouldn’t be the first time he had put himself out for Sam.

  ‘On a scale of one to ten…how urgent?’ asked Charlie, when he had signaled Laura to turn down the volume on the television.

  ‘Twelve,’ Sam said.

  ‘OK,’ Charlie sighed. ‘The telly’s rubbish, anyway. I’ll meet you at the lab in,’ he checked his watch ‘…in an hour?’

  ‘Done,’ said Sam. ‘I owe you one.’

  ‘Well, mine’s a pint,’ Charlie said.

  Sam laughed. ‘That’s a deal.’

Bacon rolls and pasties were the only hot offerings on the canteen menu at that time of night. Sam selected a pasty, and went to the machine to pour himself a mug of what passed for coffee at the Truro station. A couple of uniformed constables were the only other diners and Sam nodded across to them as he bolted down the meal.

The forensic lab was in an ugly red brick building not far from the station and Charlie’s car was in the car park.

  ‘Sam. How are you doing?’ Charlie raised a hand in greeting as Sam walked in. Charlie was already at his bench examining Bentine’s box. ‘This is a right little Chinese puzzle you’ve given us.’ He pushed his spectacles up his nose. ‘Take a seat,’ he said, indicating the vacant stool. ‘You’re going to like this.’ 

  Sam slid in next to him and Charlie said ‘How are the family?’

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘Ah. I’ll take that as ‘not fine’ then.’

  Sam shrugged. ‘I’m in Jack’s bad books. We were going fishing last Saturday when all this business down at Borlase kicked off.’

  Charlie shook his head. ‘We never learn to put our families before the job, do we, Sam? And I don’t know why because at the end of they day nothing is more important than family.’

  This was sounding distinctly philosophical for Charlie and he smiled when he caught Sam’s quizzical look. ‘I know, I know. Who am I - twice divorced - to be handing out relationship advice? But this time it will be different.’

  Sam’s eyebrow arched. ‘This time?’

  Charlie’s grin split his face. ‘I’m getting married again in two weeks time, You’re invited.’

  ‘You sly old dog. I didn’t even know you were seeing anyone. Do I know her?’

  ‘Probably. It’s Laura Bennington, over at the museum.’

  ‘Well, the plot thickens,’ said Sam. ‘I was with her a day or two ago when one of that artist, Lawrence Kemp’s, paintings was vandalised. I don’t remember her saying anything about an engagement.’

  ‘It’s all very low key at the moment, and we want to keep it that way until the big day. Anyway, enough of our sublime happiness. This little box you brought in is fascinating. Do you want to know about it?’

  ‘I want to open it.’

  ‘Well, it’s fortunate you didn’t, or you would have destroyed all the evidence inside. Look here,’ he drew Sam closer, demonstrating the sliding panel.

  ‘Yes, I’ve seen that. But how do we get into the box when we don’t know the combination?’

  ‘Don’t worry. We’ve worked that one out, but the point is the combination alone will not open the box, nor will the key. We need to use both together.’ He looked up triumphantly. ‘Now who would have thought of that.’

  Who indeed, thought Sam? Only someone with a very devious mind.

  Charlie turned the key a single ratchet and punched in a series of numbers. ‘There’s more,’ he said raising his hand for Sam to be patient. ‘One more turn.’ The key clicked again and the lid sprang open. Sam stared into an empty box.

  ‘What you’re interested in is down here.’ He reached into a drawer under the bench and produced a thick bundle of papers in a police evidence bag, which he tossed in front of them.

Sam stared at it.  ‘Andrew Charlton. I could kiss you.’

  ‘I’d rather you saved that for the bride,’ said Charlie, moving out of Sam’s range, just in case. ‘The wedding’s at the Truro Register Office, by the way…bring a friend.’

‘How soon can I have this stuff?’ Sam asked.

Charlie expelled air noisily. ‘Give us a chance to check it over, Sam,’ he sighed. ‘How does tomorrow afternoon suit you?’

‘I’d prefer the morning?’ Sam’s expression was pleading.

Charlie locked the papers back in his drawer. ‘I like it when you grovel,’ he said ‘Where are we going for that pint?’

CHAPTER TWELVE

  Loveday emerged from the shower, pulled on her white toweling robe and wound another towel around her wet hair. She frowned when she heard the knock on the door. Visitors were definitely not welcome on a Sunday morning. This was the pampering time she had promised herself all week.

Maybe if she ignored it they would go away. She padded into the front room and peeked from behind the curtain, and then cursed. Abbie Grainger’s green Fiat was parked next to her own car. She had no choice but to let them in. The women looked surprised when she appeared in her dressing gown in the middle of the morning.

  ‘Oh, we’re intruding,’ Abbie said, apologetically. ‘We should have rung first. It’s just that we were visiting St Michael’s Mount - ‘ She turned to indicate it. ‘…And it seemed rude not to call in.’

  Kit looked uncomfortable, and to Loveday’s eyes, decidedly peaky. She said, ‘This is obviously inconvenient. We shouldn’t have landed on you like this. We’ll go.’

   ‘Actually,’ Abbie cut in, ‘There was another reason why we knocked on your door. Kit was feeling a bit faint.’ Kit tried to shush her but Abbie ploughed on. ‘It’s quite a hike up to that castle. It’s knocked all the puff out of her.’ she cast a sympathetic glance at Kit and lowered her voice. ‘She’s a bit shaky on her feet at the moment.’

  ‘I’m still here,’ Kit snapped back, ‘I
can
hear you.’

  Loveday’s brow creased in concern as she reached out to usher Kit into the cottage. The poor woman did look ill. Loveday was beginning to feel ashamed of her first instinct not to answer the door to them.

  ‘Come through to the kitchen,’ she said, leading the way, and reaching to fill the kettle. ‘It won’t take me a minute to get dressed. Make yourselves at home.’ She went to her room, pulled a pair of jeans from their hanger and was back dressed within two minutes, her long, dark hair brushed back into a damp ponytail.

  Kit was at the sink filling a mug with water. ‘It’s for my pills,’ she explained, ‘I’ll feel better once I’ve taken them.’

Loveday studied the thin, gaunt face and made a decision. ‘My neighbour is a doctor. I think he should take a quick look at you. I’ll be just a minute she called, heading for the door with the women’s protests ringing in her ears.

  ‘No problem. I’ll just get my bag,’ Adam said, when Cassie repeated Loveday’s request.  He appeared in bright yellow t-shirt and jeans and followed her at a brisk pace back to her cottage.

‘This is Dr Trevillick,’ Loveday said, ‘I think you should let him check you over, Kit.’

  Kit frowned, and snapped, ‘I’m fine. I don’t need a doctor.’

  ‘Probably not,’ Adam smiled, and Loveday could see why he was such a popular GP. ‘…But since I’m here -?’

  Kit nodded indifferently and Adam lifted her limp wrist and checked her pulse before putting a hand on her forehead.

  ‘You’re hot,’ he said, frowning. ‘I’ll just take your temperature.’

  The others watched in silence as he concluded his brief examination.

   ‘You seem very run down, Miss…I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.

‘It’s Kit.’ The voice was flat.

Adam studied her. ‘Well, Kit. You really should be resting.’

  ‘Quite right,’ Abbie said. ‘We’ll drive back to the hotel and get you off to bed at once.’ She turned to the others. ‘I knew we should never have attempted to climb up there today. It’s been too much for her.’

  ‘I told you. I’m fine,’ Kit raised a hand to quell any further discussion about her health. ‘I’ve taken my pills, and now I’m fine.’

  ‘Pills?’ Adam queried. ‘Can I see them?’

  Kit produced a small brown bottle from her bag. ‘I take them for my…nerves.’

  Adam examined the bottle and nodded before giving her an earnest look. ‘I meant what I said about the rest. No more gadding about, not for a few days at least.’

  Loveday had produced four mugs of instant coffee and handed round the milk and sugar.

  ‘My fault. I confess,’ Abbie held up her hands to emphasize her guilt. ‘I wanted us to make the most of our time in Cornwall. Doing the round of sightseeing has been a way of taking our minds off…well, other things.’

  Out of the corner of her eye Loveday saw Kit shudder. It was a reaction to that awful memory that Loveday knew only too well. It had been bad enough for her, but for Kit, who was already struggling to cope with the death of her sister…it must have been a living hell. No wonder the poor woman was strung out.

The scene at Borlase Cove once more flashed, unbidden, into her own mind. She was standing at the edge again, her hand clamped over her mouth, staring down at the horror below. Abbie was behind her, body stiff as a statue.

Shock took some people like that. She could see Lawrence, gently leading her away from the edge and back to the others. That’s when Loveday had caught sight of Kit. Her eyes were wide, her expression full of horror. And then she collapsed. But had there been something else there, something Loveday initially missed in the trauma of that awful morning. Had there been fear in Kit Armitage’s eyes?

  Adam’s voice cut into her thoughts.

  ‘Is this your first time in Cornwall, ladies?’

  Both women nodded.

  ‘Not the best introduction to our beautiful county,’ he said.

  ‘That’s why we stayed on,’ Abbie said, quickly. ‘We didn’t want this terrible murder to be our lasting memory of Cornwall.’

  Adam nodded. ‘Good idea,’ he grinned, putting his empty mug on the table. A thought struck him as he made for the door and he turned. ‘Once you’re feeling up to it, Miss…er..Kit, you might try a day’s sailing. All that sea air in your lungs.’ He took a deep breath and Loveday knew he was picturing days out in his own little boat, currently waiting across the road in the sailing club compound for its next outing.

  ‘We wouldn’t know one end of a boat from the other,’ Abbie said.

‘I was thinking of a sail down the Fal on one of the tourist boats,’ Adam said, ‘If they’re still sailing at this time of year.’ He picked up his bag and with a little bow to the three of them was out of the door and away.

  ‘Nice man,’ Kit mumbled, in one of her rare unprompted utterances. ‘I think we should be going now, Abbie. We’ve already intruded too much on Loveday’s day off.’

  This was new too. Kit taking control. It was good to see her asserting herself for once. Loveday wondered just how strong the little nerve pills Kit was popping actually were.

She followed them out to their car and waved them off as they made a noisy exit up the drive and out onto the Marazion seafront.

Her plans for a lazy day finishing the library book that was now overdue had been interrupted. Loveday changed into the tracksuit she wore for running and pulled on her old trainers. The tide was out and she headed for the beach.

It was the reappearance of the women that had got her thinking. Loveday had tried to recall something that at the time she’d thought was strange. Now she remembered what it was.

When she told them one of her friends had been taken in for questioning, Abbie had said, ‘They surely don’t think
he
could have done this?’ She’d said ‘he’, but Loveday was certain she’d made no mention of her friend being male. Had that been a reasonable assumption on Abbie’s part?  She frowned. She was getting paranoid.

Loveday got to work early next morning and was typing up an interview she had recorded earlier when her mobile rang. She picked it up.

  ‘Loveday? It’s Lawrence. I’m at the museum, and I need you to come over…right now, if you can.’

  The urgency in his voice set alarm bells clanging in Loveday’s head. She’d never heard him so agitated. ‘What’s wrong, Lawrence? What’s happened?’

  ‘There’s something I need you to see. It’s important, Loveday. Can you come now?’

    She could see her diary lying open at the page where she had scribbled in details of the telephone interview she’d arranged in half-an-hour’s time with a couple who had just opened a new bakery in Fowey.

‘Well, I’m a bit pushed this morning. Can it wait an hour or so?’

‘Not really. I need you to see this.’

‘I have to be back here within the hour.’

‘Yes, that’s fine. Just get over here, can you?

She glanced up at Keri who was mouthing that she should go. ‘I’ll ring the people in Fowey and tell them you’ll be calling a bit later than planned.’

Loveday smiled her thanks and reached for her jacket. Truro’s city centre was always busy and today was no exception, even though the lunchtime rush was still a long way off.

Her heels clicked on the uneven pavement as she turned out of Lemon Street and, dodging traffic and shoppers, crossed Boscawn Street. A few minutes later she was running up the museum steps.

Lawrence was waiting with Laura at the reception desk, and both smiled a greeting.

‘Well?’ Loveday asked, arching an eyebrow at him.

  ‘In the gallery upstairs,’ he said, taking her arm and hurrying her through the main exhibition hall, past the displays of Cornish artifacts in their glass cases.

She struggled to keep pace with him as he bounded up the stairs to the upper gallery where his vandalised paintings had hung. She followed him in, narrowing her eyes to adjust to the darker surroundings. Spotlights picked out the various paintings, showing the work of the local artists to best advantage.

Lawrence stopped before his picture of Borlase Cliffs.

Loveday gasped. ‘Your painting, Lawrence! You’ve managed to restore it.’

  ‘No, this is another one that I painted weeks earlier, but it was so similar to the damaged one that the museum…well, Laura, agreed to hang it.’

  ‘It’s wonderful, Lawrence. Is that what you wanted me to see? I thought the building was on fire.’

But he wasn’t listening.

‘I thought the paintings were more or less identical,’ he said. ‘It was only when I had hung this one that I remembered.’

  ‘Remembered what?’

  ‘The figure. Don’t you see? There was a figure in the other picture…somebody standing at the cliff edge. It looked kind of poignant somehow, so I painted him in. well,
it
…I couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Lawrence.’ Loveday spread her hands in a gesture that showed she was mystified. ‘I don’t understand. What’s your point?’

  ‘Don’t you see…this could be why the painting was destroyed. Maybe it wasn’t the actual picture the vandal wanted to deface – just that figure.’

  Loveday shrugged. ‘I still don’t see.’

  ‘I painted that a couple of weeks before Bentine’s murder.’ He looked at Loveday, his eyes glowing with excitement. ‘What if my figure was the murderer…checking out the location…planning his crime?’

  Loveday’s eyes widened. ‘Where has all this come from? Come on, Lawrence. It’s all a bit far fetched.’

  ‘I know, but just think…What if that figure was the murderer…and he recognised himself in my painting?’ He searched Loveday’s face for any sign of her believing his theory. ‘That would explain why my painting was attacked. The killer was destroying the evidence!’     

   Loveday let out long, slow breath. ‘It stretches credulity just a bit, don’t you think? I mean, could this figure actually be identified? You said you couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman. And anyway…why would it matter?’

  ‘It might matter. That person was on the cliffs a few weeks before Paul Bentine’s body was found down there.’ He stopped to look at her. ‘I know it’s a long shot…but what if that actually was the killer and he or she was out there doing some kind of recce? How shocked they would have been if they had visited the gallery, seen my painting…and recognised himself, or herself?’

  A tiny knot of excitement began to form in Loveday’s own stomach. Lawrence’s theory was so far fetched to be bordering on the ludicrous, but what if he was right? On the other hand, the painting had been destroyed, so any evidence, however slight, was also gone.

  ‘I know what you’re thinking, that this is all in my mind and that I have no proof. But there’s this.’ he pulled a dog-eared sketchbook from his satchel.

  ‘I always start a painting by making a sketch of the subject.’ He flipped over the pages and turned the book towards Loveday. ‘You see,’ he said, pointing to the charcoal image, ‘That’s him.’

  Loveday looked down at the familiar image of the mine stack at Borlase and her eye was drawn to the edge of the drawing and the distant figure outlined against the emptiness of the sky. There was an outline of a jacket, trousers. It could have been anybody.

  ‘Is this your proof, Lawrence?’ she asked, her voice rising in disbelief.

  ‘I know it’s not much, but the figure in the painting would surely have been much more recognisable to the person involved. Look at the cap,’ he insisted, pointing, ‘Who wears anything like that any more?’

  Loveday shrugged. She could make out only the merest outline of a hat.

  ‘I know it’s not very clear here, but it was better in the painting, because I remembered it.’