Caught Out in Cornwall (7 page)

‘Yes, dear. Whatever you say.’

Jack grinned at her. Rose was stubborn; she would not be careful. However, he was beginning to relax and Rose looked lovely that evening. More so than usual, he supposed, because she was not clad in her paint splattered jeans. He yawned and swallowed the rest of his whisky.

Rose could see he was ready for bed.

Marcus Holt paced the floor of the lounge of his small terraced house. It had been purchased with his share of the proceeds of his divorce five years previously. His wife had moved back to London to be near her family.

Marcus had taken a week off from work. Holiday he was long overdue from the electrical
retail firm for whom he worked; although he could hardly have called it a holiday. Carol and her problems were too much on his mind.

He had met her in the store when she had come in to buy some electrical equipment. He couldn’t recall what it was but he had been infatuated with her from the start. Her curves were all in the right places and she had a mass of reddish brown hair. There was an earthiness about her he couldn’t resist, even when she had told him she was married. She was, in fact, the complete opposite of Sheila, his thin, blonde ex-wife.

The sex was terrific, although there had been far less of it recently. He had also noticed a change in Carol’s attitude towards him. Until the past few days he had not doubted that she would leave John and move in with him. Now he had a strong impression that he had been carefully manipulated and once his usefulness had expired she would leave him. But how can she leave me when she’s never really been with me? he asked himself.

I’ll really have to give her an ultimatum, he realised as he wondered just how much of what she had told him was true. Sunday evening would be the limit, it would have to be. That was also when her children returned from their
grandparents’ house ready to return to school. They had been given a couple of days off because of their distress at what had happened to their cousin. Their headmistress thought that remaining with their grandparents might provide a distraction. She was fully aware of how quickly children forgot things.

He had been an utter fool. Carol must now accept the consequences of her actions, just as he would have to do.

There was an alternative but Marcus Holt did not have the courage for that. It had taken him far too long to acknowledge the danger of becoming involved with a woman like Carol.

Michael Poole finished his day’s work then returned to his cottage in Looe where he packed an overnight bag. There was no way he could stay away from Sally any longer. And he was almost physically sick with worry over Beth. He had really believed it was better to go along with what Sally had said, but the reality of not seeing his daughter – of perhaps never seeing her again – was a lot harder to deal with than he had imagined.

He hung up his suit, changed into more casual clothes and ran a comb through his short, fair
hair. He locked up the cottage and began his drive to Marazion.

It was Carol who had given him Sally’s address. ‘She doesn’t want you to know where she is,’ she had said in that bitter tone of voice he had come to accept.

‘For heaven’s sake, Carol, Beth’s missing, my daughter’s missing, things are different now.’ Speaking the words made them real and had brought tears to his eyes. ‘Sally needs all the support she can get right now. You, as a mother, must realise that.’

Reluctantly, Carol had given him directions.

Michael had no idea what sort of a reception he would receive, neither did he care. He just had to be there and he knew he was doing the right thing.

The Friday night traffic began to thin out and he reached Marazion a little after seven thirty. He had driven in the dark and it had rained all the way down and continued to do so. The road was black and shiny beneath the streetlamps and the wipers swished back and forth soporifically. The chill damp air revived him after the stuffiness of the car when he finally found somewhere to park.

Lights shone from the windows of pubs and many of the cottages that lined the streets but
there were few pedestrians around. The rhythmic sound of waves breaking echoed in the stillness and he could smell the salt from the spray. He stopped briefly to look at the Mount, visible from where he stood because it was close to the land. It rose majestically out of the water.

Wandering through the narrow streets he eventually found the house he was looking for. Lights shone from the windows on both stories. There were two bells. He pressed the one marked Jones.

It was several minutes before he heard movement from inside the house. The door opened and he stood face to face with Sally’s mother. ‘Hello, Alice,’ he said, pleased to have met with her first because she had always liked and approved of him and had been disappointed when Sally had decided to end their relationship. Even now, he had no idea why she had done so.

‘I’m so glad you’re here. You’d better come in.’

Michael followed her up the stairs, dreading the pain he was about to witness.

For most of the week the Tesco store on the outskirts of Penzance remained open twenty-four hours a day. It was where Geoff Carter did his shopping. Never able to sleep for more than four or five hours a night he enjoyed the odd sensation of buying his groceries along with shift workers and other insomniacs when everyone else was asleep. However, the disadvantage was that the liquor department had to abide by the licensing laws and the counters selling fresh meat, fish and cheeses were also closed at night.

Wandering along the aisles with a trolley he passed several staff who were restocking the shelves. And then, to his amazement, as he rounded
a corner he came face to face with the woman he was sure he had seen driving past the gallery earlier that evening. Some might have called this coincidence. Geoff Carter, who had previously noticed how attractive she was, decided it had to be fate. ‘Hello,’ he said brazenly as, without appearing to do so, he took in her curves, her slim legs in tight fitting jeans and her hair, which glinted beneath the fluorescent lights. She looked wholesome and clean and it seemed appropriate that the aroma of fresh bread coming from the shelves where they stood should be enveloping them. As he stepped closer he recognised the light floral scent she wore. His first wife had used it, too. ‘I think I might have seen you earlier, in Penzance.’

Her face reddened. ‘Oh, I … yes. I was visiting my children.’

‘Don’t they live with you?’ Her unexpected answer had taken him by surprise. He had not intended to be so abrupt but it was certainly an odd thing to admit to a stranger. When he first saw her he had imagined she would probably ignore his greeting and walk on past.

‘Yes, of course they do. It’s just that they’re staying with their grandparents for a day or two. They’re coming home on Sunday. I’ve had some problems, I needed a break, you see.’

I should’ve kept my mouth shut, he thought. There were tears in the woman’s eyes. He did not wish to become involved with a neurotic. On the other hand, her vulnerability touched him, and she was certainly a looker. ‘Can’t your husband help you out?’ he asked as casually as possible because he was actually trying to ascertain if there was a husband.

She shook her head. ‘He’s away at the moment. Look, I must get on.’ She realised the mistake in continuing the conversation and having admitted so much, but he had taken her by surprise.

‘If there’s anything I can do to help, I’ll be only too pleased. My name’s Geoff Carter, by the way.’

‘I’m Carol, Carol Harte.’ Then the tears started in earnest. They ran down her face whilst she fumbled in her bag for a handkerchief. ‘I’m so sorry. I really don’t know what’s the matter with me.’

‘Why don’t we give up on the shopping? If you’re not up to it I can run you home and you can collect your car another time.’ He now felt genuinely sorry for her; vulnerability in females appealed to him as much as their faces and figures.

‘I’ll be fine to drive, really.’

She looked down at the floor and hesitated before walking away. It was all the encouragement he needed.

‘Then let me follow you, just to make sure you’re all right. I promise you I won’t get out of the car. You’ll be quite safe.’ He reached into his jacket pocket and produced one of his business cards which gave his name and the address and telephone number of the gallery. ‘That’s who I am. I won’t be going anywhere. Now that you know exactly where I can be found, I hope that you’ll trust me.’

Carol, who had not been to visit her children who would, in any case, have been asleep by then, had been to see Marcus. She was hardly inside the door when he had delivered his ultimatum. She had no idea what to do or to whom she could turn. Now, out of the blue, this man who claimed to have seen her in Penzance was taking an interest. Talking to a stranger might help, not that she could confide in him, but it might help ease some of the tension. Only because she didn’t want to be alone did she take him up on his invitation. ‘Thank you, I’d be grateful if you would. I live the other side of Marazion, though. I’m sure it’ll be out of your way’

‘It’s no problem. Come on, let’s go.’

They paid for their groceries and left the store.

There were few cars in the car park and the sodium lamps distorted the colours of those they could see. Geoff escorted Carol to her white Citroen, returned to his own vehicle, the van he used for transporting works of art, then followed her out on to the main road. She was nervous, he realised that by the way in which she kept glancing in her rear view mirror. But whether that was because she had regretted agreeing to his following her, or if it was simply to check he was still there, he didn’t know.

Jack’s mobile phone woke them. He had closed his eyes the moment he got into bed the previous night but felt no better for eight hours’ sleep. ‘Hello,’ he snapped once he’d grabbed it from the bedside table, not fully aware of where he was. Not his own bedroom, that was certain. It was still dark but he gradually made out the shapes of Rose’s familiar furniture. He was in her wooden bed in the plainly but pleasingly decorated room, which resembled that of a farmhouse bedroom rather than a fisherman’s cottage. ‘In that case my hands are tied. I’ll be in as soon as possible,’ he said after he had listened to the caller for a minute or two.

‘What is it, Jack?’ Rose had switched on her bedside light and was sitting up in bed.

‘They’ve called off the bloody search. Orders from above. Enough time and money’s been wasted, apparently. How can you waste those things when a child’s life is involved?’ The understanding had been the search would continue at daylight that morning. But deep down he feared no search would ever bring Beth back. Experts as well as local police and volunteers had covered miles of ground around the Marazion area. The roadblocks had been in place as quickly as possible and there was no way in which every inch of the county could be searched. Even then, if her body had been dumped, it could have been at sea or in a cave or one of the numerous old mine workings where it would never be found. He had seen this coming but known he was unable to prevent it. Orders from above could not be disobeyed.

‘Have a quick shower, I’ll make you some coffee,’ Rose told him as she got out of bed and pulled on her towelling robe. It smelt of the softener she used in the wash. ‘And if there’s time, there’s something I should mention. I meant to discuss it with you last night but I could see you were too tired. It’ll only take a minute, I promise,
but I think you ought to know before you go in.’

Jesus Christ, he thought as he went along the landing to the bathroom. What has the woman been up to now?

Rose knew that Jack wouldn’t want to wait for the filter coffee to run through the machine so she spooned instant into two mugs and tried to think of a way to phrase what she wanted to say to him.

The kettle boiled. She poured water over the granules, added sugar to Jack’s mug then carried the two black coffees into the sitting-room. The shower was still running. Jack’s coffee would have a chance to cool a little.

It was a few minutes past seven. So far west the day broke later than in other parts of the country but there was the advantage of lighter evenings. In the height of the summer daylight could last until as late as ten thirty or even eleven.

That morning, in the winter predawn, the sea was a steely grey; the land stretching around the bay a semicircle of blackish humps outlined against the sky. The familiar outline of St Michael’s Mount loomed darkly against the skyline. Over the land was a band of red, filtering upwards to pink before turning the streaky clouds a brilliant orange.

Rose held her breath. Every dawn and every sunset was different. The colours changed so rapidly they would be impossible to paint. Already the sky was lightening; blackbird egg blue in the west, pearly white to the east. The sun was rising. Nature was putting on a good show.

‘What did you want to tell me?’

She turned. Jack stood in the doorway, she had not heard him approach. He crossed the sitting-room and joined her by the window where he picked up his mug from the sill. The steam had left a circle of condensation on a pane of glass. Rose watched him take a sip of coffee. His dark hair curled damply and he smelt of her shower gel. There were dark smudges beneath his eyes but he was still handsome and she would very much like to have taken him back upstairs. She inhaled deeply before speaking. To Jack this was a sure sign that she was nervous. ‘To put it bluntly, Doreen is worried about the daughter of someone she knows. She’s only six and her personality has changed completely.’

‘So?’

‘So, Jack, we wondered if there might be a connection with whatever’s happened to Beth.’

‘You’re really not making much sense, Rose.’

I’m not, she realised, and I really should
have thought all this through properly before mentioning it. ‘Little girls, that’s what I’m talking about. For instance, have there been any recent cases of child abuse? Look, I know you can’t answer that, but you hear of these paedophile rings and, as Doreen pointed out, these offenders are on some sort of list nowadays.’

‘Doreen Clarke is a terrible gossip, as you well know. I imagined you’d know better than to listen to her.’

‘I thought you liked her.’ Rose was indignant.

‘Since when has that had anything to do with it? You know I like her but that doesn’t alter the fact that she gossips.’ He hadn’t meant to snap but Rose had touched a nerve. There had been a recent case of sexual abuse involving an eight-year-old girl. Whoever was responsible had not yet been caught. The girl in question, Mandy, had been on her way home from school when she had quarrelled with the friend she was walking with. Mandy had lagged behind letting Linda walk on alone. When Linda finally looked back Mandy was nowhere to be seen. ‘I thought she was hiding, to pay me back,’ Linda had told the female officer who was following up on what Mandy had told her. But Mandy had been dragged into a car not far from her school. It had happened so quickly
and, as unlikely as it seemed at that time of the day, there had been no witnesses. However, unlike in Beth’s case, Mandy had been shoved out of the car and left by the roadside in a quiet lane where, some minutes later, a passing motorist had found her in a shocked and disorientated state. Sensibly, he had rung the police from his mobile phone rather than offer her a lift. And he waited until we arrived, Jack recalled. The man had also given a voluntary statement. Had he been the abuser he would not have done either. No one would ever know the extent of the mental damage it might have caused Mandy.

She had said the man was big, but to a child of that age any man would probably seem so. And dark haired. Rose had seen a dark haired man take Beth from the beach.

Jack sighed. ‘What exactly do you expect me to do? I can hardly knock on the door and ask these people if someone is abusing their daughter. What’s their name, anyway?’

‘They’re called Overton. The daughter’s name is Katy. I know the grandmother, Ann. She usually cuts my hair. I’ve met Susan and Simon, they’re the parents, but only once.’

I should have guessed Rose would have to know one or other of the parties involved, he
thought. ‘Do you believe Doreen, or is it just a case of her imagination working overtime?’

‘I believe her, Jack. She seems genuinely upset.’

‘Okay. If there’s any way in which I can make discreet enquiries I’ll do so. Now, I really must go.’ He handed her his mug which was still half full of coffee before he hurried out of the house.

Daylight had arrived but the spectacular dawn had held a false promise. Clouds were beginning to bank up over the land and within minutes it started to rain. Apart from the fishing forecasts, no one bothered with what the meteorologists had to say. On the narrow peninsular, surrounded as it was by water, it was impossible to predict with any accuracy forthcoming weather. Sunshine could give way to rain in seconds or a storm could pass over abruptly leaving a clear blue sky.

Rose went to the kitchen and checked the fridge. It was almost empty, some shopping needed to be done. While the kettle boiled for a second mug of coffee she peeled an orange and broke it into segments, enjoying the tangy smell of the rind. Juice ran over her fingers. She rinsed them at the sink then began to eat. The telephone interrupted her.

It was Geoff Carter. For a moment Rose expected another invitation for dinner.

‘I’m at the gallery. The post is here and I thought you’d like to know that a cheque has arrived. They’ve finally sorted out the finances of your last exhibition and sent me the balance. Well, you know how it is, they keep the money for as long as possible before they deduct their exorbitant commission and pay the poor artists.’

‘I know that, Geoff. And you, as a gallery owner yourself, are no less to blame.’

‘Ah, how well you know me, Rose, dear. But if you want your money you’d better be nice to me.’

‘Naturally. But then I’m nice to everyone. I’ll come in this morning to collect my dues. Have the cheque ready, it’s going straight into the building society.’

‘The building society? You’re obviously making more money than you need to live on. Something’s definitely wrong with the world when an artist can do that. In the circumstances I think you should marry me.’

‘Then think on, Geoffrey Carter. You are definitely not husband material. Anyway, it’s only just gone eight. What on earth are you doing at the gallery so early?’

‘The usual. A touch of insomnia. In fact …’

‘In fact, what?’

‘Oh, it’s nothing really. It can wait. I’ll tell you
about it over coffee. You’ll have time for one, won’t you, before you pop in to the Bristol & West?’

‘Yes. They’re open until twelve on Saturdays.’ Rose was intrigued. Geoff’s bantering tone had turned serious.

By the time she had showered and dressed, made the bed and written out a shopping list, it was pouring with rain. The list was quite long. This year she was going to make a Christmas cake as she knew how much her father enjoyed it, although she had left it a little late. In previous years, when David was alive she had baked it in September then added brandy at regular intervals via holes made with a knitting needle; the result a delicious moistness.