A Cornish Revenge (The Loveday Ross Cornish Mysteries Book 1) (6 page)

  Magdalene’s throat tightened. She’d tried to speak, to explain, but no words came.

  ‘Well, what’s wrong little girl?’ he leered, ‘Is Daddy not here to bail you out any more?’

  Magdalene moved away from him, but Paul grabbed her arm, ‘You didn’t really think I was going to let you get away with this…did you?’

  Her fists tightened and the fear that had initially gripped her suddenly turned to fury. She rounded on him, lifting her chin to match his venom with her own. ‘No Paul, not this time! This time
I’m
giving the orders…and you’ll do nothing.’

  He raised his hand and she thought he was about to strike her, but he stepped back, his face registering disbelief. She took courage from that and pushed him further away. ‘It stops here!’ she screamed. ‘All your evil plots…they stop right here!’

  But the sneer was back on his face. ‘Oh yes?’ he taunted. ‘And just what do you plan to do about it?’

  Suddenly she knew exactly what she was going to do about it. He stared after her as she ran. Her mind was made up. There was no other way!

  Reliving the ugly scene had left her drained. She poured herself a gin and drank it down straight, then rang the mobile she had bought Martin for their exclusive use.

His voice, when he answered, was muffled. ‘For pity’s sake, Mags. We agreed not to call each other. I’ve had to come out of a meeting.’

  Magdalene’s temper snapped. ‘I’m sorry if this is inconveniencing you, Reverend.’ She hated hearing the sarcasm in her voice but was helpless to stop it. ‘You haven’t heard the news, have you?’ She tried to keep her tone steady but it rose alarmingly on the final word.

  ‘What news?’ he snapped. Martin had moved along the corridor of the youth centre where his meeting was taking place.

  ‘It’s him! They’ve found him, Martin.’ Her voice wavered and she held the edge of the table to steady her. ‘I think they’ve found Paul’s body.’

  Hesitantly she recounted the details of the news bulletin.

  ‘Calm down, darling.’ Martin tried to speak soothingly. She sounded as if she was falling apart. He had to think fast.

  ‘I’m going to the police.’ Magdalene said flatly.

  ‘No! We need to think about this.’ He could see his world collapsing. They had done a terrible thing and there would be no forgiveness once it came to light. It had all started so innocently that first day when she came to him. He’d noticed her in church, of course. Who hadn’t? A chic, stylish, beautiful young woman stood in his church. But she didn’t seem to notice the envious glances of the other female parishioners, or the more meaningful stares of the men in his congregation. That Sunday, as he stood at the door of the church after the service shaking hands with his parishioners as they filed out, she had held his hand just a bit longer than the others. It prompted him to ask if she was all right. She smiled and nodded her thanks, but he noticed that she had lingered in the churchyard until the last people had gone. He waited as she walked back up the path towards him.

  ‘Can I speak to you, vicar?’

  In the small room at the back of the church where he kept his robes and the flower vases were stored, he pulled out a chair and invited her to sit. She ignored the chair.

  ‘I don’t know where else to turn.’

  To his surprise large tears rolled down her cheeks and she looked so vulnerable that he had to stop himself from gathering her into his arms and whispering soothing words. He listened, intrigued, as she poured out the story of a disastrous marriage.

  The unexpected interruption of his other mobile made them both jump. His home number flashed and he clicked it on. ‘Don’t tell me you’re going to be late, again, Martin?’ His wife, Joan’s voice was slightly irritated.  He could hear his children in the background - 12-months-old Timmy, Jemima 4, and their six-year-old twins, Sophie and Rory – they were squabbling.

  Magdalene was rummaging in her bag for a tissue. ‘I’m keeping you,’ she said, making for the door. ‘Thanks for listening to me.’

  Looking down into her large blue eyes he should have recognised the danger signs. She wasn’t, after all, the first attractive, vulnerable female he’d had to deal with. It wasn’t as though he didn’t know the pitfalls. But he heard himself arranging to meet her next day - to talk things over.

It hadn’t taken long after that for their relationship to develop into an affair. He hated himself for it. Sitting at the breakfast table each morning, surrounded by the trusting faces of his children as they tucked into their cereal, were the worst times…And Joan…she didn’t deserve this. Why was he risking losing his family? But then he remembered Magdalene, the smell of her skin, the feel of her hair, silky through his fingers. How could he not protect her from the monster she was married to?

  This weekend it had all come to a head. Paul Bentine knew about them. He was threatening to destroy him…to tell Martin’s family about the affair. He couldn’t let him do that!

  Magdalene’s voice on his mobile brought him back to the present.

  ‘I’m going to the police,’ she repeated.

  His hand shook as he pleaded with her. ‘Do you know what you’re saying? I’ll come over. Don’t do anything yet.’

  But Magdalene voice was resolute. ‘My mind’s made up. I have to tell them.’

CHAPTER FIVE

At 11.30am on Tuesday morning Magdalene walked into Truro Police Station and handed over the photograph of Paul that she had carefully selected from the album. ‘I’d like to report my husband missing,’ she told the young sergeant. She fancied she noticed his eyebrows rise when he looked at Paul’s picture. She gave her name and address, and details of when she had last seen her husband. He jotted them down on a pad then showed Magdalene into a side room. Ten minutes passed before the door opened and a tall man in a dark tweed jacket entered. The woman who followed him was shorter, younger, and with a shock of ginger hair that she had unsuccessfully attempted to tame by tying it back on the nape of her neck.

The man’s smile was professional as he extended his hand. ‘I’m Detective Inspector Kitto.’ He turned to his companion. ‘And this is Detective Constable Fox. Please take a seat Mrs…’ He glanced at his notes. ‘…Mrs Bentine’

  She was dressed casually, a suede tan jacket over a light sweater and slacks, but she looked expensive. Sam laid Paul’s photo on the table. ‘This is your husband?’

  Magdalene nodded.

  ‘When did you last see him, Mrs Bentine?’

  She shifted in her chair. ‘Friday.’

   Sam had been watching the woman carefully. He thought she looked more frightened than worried, but there were dark smudges under her eyes that suggested she’d been crying.

  ‘That was four days ago, Mrs Bentine. Why have you left it so long to report him missing?

  ‘I’ve been away,’ she said.

  ‘Until today?’

  Magdalene shook her head and her teeth caught her bottom lip. ‘I came back yesterday.’

  Sam’s eyebrows rose. ‘Your husband didn’t come home last night and you weren’t worried? Why not, Mrs Bentine?’

  Magdalene shrugged. ‘He often stays away. We have what is called…an open marriage, Inspector.’ She looked up, studying him for a reaction, but found none and continued, ‘It’s not unusual for him not to come home. His business you know. He often stays overnight somewhere without informing me. I told you, we don’t live in each other’s pockets.’

‘But surely you must have wondered where he was?’ Amanda asked.

    ‘Paul wouldn’t thank me for making a fuss. If I reported him missing and he walked in and found I’d been to the police he…well, his reaction would not be pretty.’  She put both hands to her face and held her head. ‘But you’re right. I am worried now. I wouldn’t be here otherwise.’ She was avoiding eye contact now. Were they believing her?

  Sam and Amanda exchanged looks. ‘Haven’t you heard any local news bulletins?’ Sam asked, and saw her body stiffen.

  ‘No’

  She was lying…but why? Sam drew in his breath and lowered his voice. ‘We might have some bad news for you, Mrs Bentine.’

  Magdalene kept her gaze fixed on the table. She knew what was coming.

  He spoke quietly. ‘We’ve found a body and it matches your husband’s description.’ He stood up. ‘I’m afraid we’ll have to ask you to take a look at it?’

  Magdalene’s legs felt like jelly and she trembled as she stood up. Sam nodded to Amanda to take her to the morgue.

The women stood together behind the glass window as the body was wheeled in, and Paul’s dead face was uncovered. Amanda’s hand flew to her mouth and she nodded.

  ‘Is this your husband, Mrs Bentine?’

  ‘That’s Paul,’ she whispered, as her legs gave way and she collapsed into Amanda’s arms. 

  The call to her DI was short and to the point. ‘Mrs Bentine has just identified her husband’s body, boss, it’s Paul Bentine.’

  ‘How is she?’ came the sombre response.

  ‘Much as you’d expect, I suppose.’

  Sam nodded at the phone. ‘I’ve got her address. We’ll meet you up there.’

  The grandeur of the Bentine’s villa took Amanda by surprise as she followed Magdalene’s instructions and parked at the front steps.

  ‘I’m really fine now, DC Fox. There’s no need for you to stay.’

  ‘Well, it’s not that simple,’ said Amanda, following her into the high-ceilinged hall, and trying not to gasp at the sweeping staircase…the paintings. ‘You haven’t asked how your husband died? Aren’t you curious?’

  Magdalene pivoted round on her heel. ‘You said he drowned.’ Her voice was accusing.

  ‘We said his body was found in a cove.’ Amanda studied the woman’s

face. The colour had returned and she was being more assertive. ‘I’m afraid there’s more to it than that.’

  ‘Suicide?’ Magdalene said, her eyes full of horror. ‘You mean he committed suicide?’

  Amanda pursed her lips, took Magdalene’s arm and walked with her into the opulent sitting room. ‘You’d better sit down,’ she said, leading Magdalene to a cream leather sofa and waiting until she was seated. ‘We’re still trying to establish the facts,’ she said quietly.

  The woman began to shake violently and the young detective scanned the room for a drinks’ tray. She found one on a side table and poured a measure of brandy, then made Magdalene sip it. Her mobile trilled and she answered it. ‘Boss?’

  ‘We’ll be searching the house. Is she up to it?’

  Amanda glanced down at Magdalene. The brandy was taking effect. Some colour had seeped back to the woman’s cheeks. ‘I think so,’ she said.

Sam and Will arrived ahead of the Scene of Crimes team. The search of the house was quick, but thorough. They concentrated on the office, asking permission to take both computers and a batch of memory sticks for further investigation.

Magdalene suddenly met Sam’s gaze, her large blue eyes now candid. ‘He killed himself, didn’t he?’

  The three officers exchanged glances.

  Magdalene persisted. ‘I can see by your faces that he did…he couldn’t swim, you see…had a fear of water...’ her voice drifted off.

Sam cleared his throat. ‘What makes you think your husband killed himself?’

  She shrugged; it was a helpless kind of gesture. ‘You mean it was an accident?’

  ‘What made you think he’d killed himself?’ Amanda had taken over the questions after a nod from Sam. ‘Was he depressed?’

  ‘Who knows,’ Magdalene said flatly, ‘Paul wasn’t like other men. If he was depressed he never showed it. Had to keep up the image, you see; keep the clients happy - or they don’t pay up.’

  ‘What kind of image, Mrs Bentine?’ Will cut in.

  Magdalene frowned, as though she had to rack her brain for an explanation. ‘Paul is a solicitor…was a solicitor.’ She produced the ball of hankie and pressed it to her nose while the others waited for her to continue. ‘He had a practise in Cambridge. She reached for the tea that Amanda had previously made, and began sipping from it apparently unaware, or not caring, that it had grown cold.

  ‘My father was Judge Henry Carruthers,’ a faint smile touched her lips and she looked around the three faces for any sign that the name would be familiar to them. Amanda nodded encouragingly and Magdalene went on. ‘He was very well respected in Cambridge…everywhere, really…a bit of an icon of the legal world. Anyway, he took Paul under his wing…put in a good word in the right places.’ She paused, staring into the room again, apparently at memories of another life in Cambridge. ‘We were happy then.’

  ‘Why did you come to Cornwall?’ Sam asked

  Magdalene sighed, ‘It was Paul’s idea. I still can’t understand why we had to move. We were settled in Cambridge. Admittedly his practice wasn’t doing particularly well, but I’d set up an interior design business and things were really working for me.’ She shrugged. ‘But Paul decided it was time for us to leave…come to Cornwall…enjoy the fruits of his labour, he said.’

  ‘What did you feel about that?’ Sam asked.

  ‘Magdalene shrugged again. ‘My father had died by then, but I still had all my friends in Cambridge, people I’d grown up with. I didn’t want to leave. Our marriage had been going through a sticky patch. Paul was always edgy, there were rows, his business was causing him problems but he would never tell me what they were. Anyway, he came up with this idea about moving to Cornwall…a new start, he said.’  She looked round the room. ‘I had to give our marriage that chance, didn’t I?’

  ‘And did it work?’ Amanda’s question took Magdalene by surprise.

   ‘Of course it didn’t. In fact, things were a lot worse between us after we came here. Paul had planned to retire, but then he decided that he needed to work after all. He took on a few consultancies with some of the big companies around here, but he was never what you could call happy.

  ‘My business, on the other hand really took off. A lot of my old friends in Cambridge had connections here…you know, holiday properties…yachts…things like that. And they were more than happy to recommend my services as an interior designer to their friends down here.’

     She put the cup she had been nursing carefully back on its saucer. ‘Paul didn’t like that, of course. He didn’t want me keeping up with my old friends, said we needed to make a complete break. But I knew he was jealous. My business was a success, you see…and his wasn’t.’

  The picture she painted was not one of domestic bliss. Sam went to the window. He could see the gravel drive sweep down to the road. There wasn’t much traffic in an area like this. ‘Your husband did not kill himself, Mrs Bentine,’ he said quietly, before turning to face her. ‘He was murdered.’

  The word seemed to drain away what little colour remained in Magdalene Bentine’s face. She attempted to stand, but swayed and Amanda rushed to guide her back down to the sofa. She stared at Sam. ‘You think someone killed Paul?’ Her voice was incredulous.

  ‘Is that such a surprise?’ Sam asked. ‘From the way you have described him, your husband seems quite capable of upsetting people.’

  ‘I know he had enemies,’ Magdalene said, ‘But things were better for him after we moved here.’

  ‘What enemies did he have, Mrs Bentine?’ Sam asked.

  But Magdalene shook her head. ‘I don’t know. Maybe enemies is too strong a word. Paul didn’t exactly get on with everybody.’

He was certain she was hiding something, but now wasn’t the time to press her further. They would interview her again.

‘Just one more thing,’ he said, smiling as he turned to leave. ‘You said you were away for the weekend. Where did you go?’

        Magdalene coloured. ‘I was staying with friends in Bodmin,’

        Sam knew she was lying, but his expression remained the same. ‘It’s just a formality, but we will need the address of your friends.’

Back at headquarters the computers had been examined at length. The smaller laptop was obviously the one Magdalene used for her business. Nothing of significance had been found in either.

  Sam was more hopeful of gaining information from the little memory stick now in front of him. He examined the tiny scrap of purple plastic. It had been dusted for prints and none were found, which was odd because he would at least have expected Paul Bentine’s prints to be there. It could be brand new of course, and devoid of any information at all, but he would still have expected to find some prints. This one looked as though it had been wiped.

  But the stick was not devoid of information and he’d whistled when they produced the printout of what was found on it. It was a dossier of names. Sam recognised some local businessmen. Each name had an attached file of information – not the sort of details any of them would want to be made public. Bentine was a blackmailer!  This morning Sam had no suspects…now he was spoilt for choice!

The pub was packed with lunchtime drinkers when Merrick and Loveday walked in.

‘Who were those two women desperate to catch your attention back there?’ He was referring to Kit and Abbie, who’d been having lunch in a café in the square when they passed. They had knocked the window and beckoned her in, but Loveday shook her head, holding out her hands as though she had another appointment – which she had.

‘They looked pretty determined to catch your eye.’

Loveday explained who they were and he nodded. ‘I’m not trying to avoid them,’ she frowned, ‘But they are a bit heavy going – and they seem to appear everywhere I go.’

The man standing at the bar turned as they entered. Loveday’s eyebrows rose as they stared at each other, their surprise mutual.

‘You two know each other I take it,’ Merrick said, slapping Sam’s back.  

‘Miss Ross.’ Sam nodded solemnly.

  Loveday inclined her head. ‘Inspector.’

  Merrick eyed them, but said nothing. He’d let whatever was going on between them pass for now.

  ‘Right,’ he said. ‘What’s everybody having?’

  Loveday hated standing at a bar and eyed a corner table by the window. Sam had followed her glance.

  ‘I’ll get these,’ he said. ‘You two sit down and I’ll bring the drinks over.’

  ‘How’s it going then, Sam?’ Merrick asked when the detective had brought their glasses and set them down on the table. ‘Got it all tied up yet?’ His tone was teasing.

  Sam sat down, stretching his long legs under the table as he considered his answer. It would be pointless not telling them, especially as it would be all over the local news by teatime.