Frozen Grave (36 page)

‘Maybe she still does,’ said Carter. ‘She didn’t want to tell us how much money she’s given him.’

‘I think it’s a case of think of a number and double it,’ said Tucker. ‘She’s not going to let Ellerman get into trouble if she can help it. It’s her and him
and she doesn’t seem to see the others.’

‘You have to take your hat off to him, how he’s managed to inspire loyalty,’ Carter said. ‘I suppose we have to look at it from her point of view. She needed a friend,
she needed to feel attractive, and he didn’t promise her that anything would happen fast; so, in her opinion, he hasn’t really lied – that much.’

‘Yeah – I’ve got a horrible feeling you’re right,’ said Tucker.

‘What did Megan Penarth seem like when you met her?’ Willis turned to ask.

‘She seemed very bright, very independent, confident, used to doing things her own way.’

‘Olivia was the same type – driven, confident; quite a loner at work. Gillian too. Lisa was a boss at a gym,’ said Carter. ‘Emily seems independent, quirky,
strong.’

‘Megan Penarth organized the meeting between the women,’ said Tucker. ‘We need to know, did she contact others who were going to come and couldn’t make it or were these
women the only ones interested?’ Carter turned.

‘These are his regulars,’ said Willis.

‘A fast-diminishing group,’ Tucker said.

‘Do you think Emily will see Ellerman again?’ asked Carter.

Willis replied: ‘Yes. Definitely.’

At just before eight they arrived at the Boulder Inn. They parked up, signed in and went straight to the bar and restaurant with their room keys in their pockets. They sat in
the restaurant of the old mid-eighteenth-century coaching inn. Willis switched her phone on to vibrate only. She had texted Tina, to tell her that she wouldn’t be home tonight; having
previously promised that, if she was back in time, they’d meet for a hot chocolate and a catch-up.

Carter ordered a pint of the local beer and Tucker had the local cider. Willis ordered a Coke. They sat in the restaurant and spent an hour making meaningless chitchat in a room without
background noise and with too few people for them to talk privately without being overheard. At the end of the dinner they went back to the bar.

Tucker pulled out a brochure of Megan Penarth’s work from his briefcase.

He put it on show on the bar. ‘She definitely lives very near here,’ he said, within earshot of the landlady – Rachel Goody, a woman who had run a bar in Chelsea before buying
the inn seven years ago. ‘I wonder how far it is to her studio?’

‘It’s not far.’ Rachel, glancing at the brochure, commented as she pulled a pint. ‘But you have to make an appointment – she doesn’t welcome people to her
house. You could try and catch her tomorrow morning. She’s a bit odd like that – you’d think she would be grateful for the work and walk-in trade, but apparently not.’

‘Do you know her personally?’

‘Oh, yes. We all know her. She’s down here complaining about the noise or the light pollution. Her husband was a practising Wiccan.’

‘What’s that?’ Carter asked.

‘One of those “would-be” witches. But, he was a good bloke – he brought in a lot of custom here. He was all about the area – bringing tourism in and making sure he
contributed to the area, but she doesn’t do any of that.’

‘She’s not well liked then?’

‘No, not just by me – I’m also a newcomer. But I don’t feel she makes any effort with the locals. She behaves oddly; we see light sometimes, coming from the old quarry.
People say it’s her carrying on with her husband’s pagan ceremonies – but I don’t know – all a load of nonsense what people say when they get talking.’

They said goodnight and Willis was so excited to get inside her room, or rather to stand outside the door and put the key in the lock. She had never stayed in a hotel until she first went on
holiday as an adult and that was with Tina. They’d gone to Ireland and stayed with Tina’s family but, besides that, they’d spent three nights in a hotel in Dublin and it had been
the best fun Willis had ever had. Now she felt enormous excitement and pleasure at turning the key in the lock and pushing the heavy door open to her room. She almost laughed out loud as she walked
into a beautiful beamed room with a large kingsize bed with scatter cushions. She walked around the room, looking at the place with delight. Her phone vibrated in her pocket.

‘Miss Willis?’

She answered: ‘Yes?’

‘This is Dr Lydia Reese. I’m afraid we’ve had some problems with your mother.’

Carter and Willis met up on the way down to breakfast.

‘They’ve had something serious happen with my mother.’

‘We’ll drop Tucker off on the way and then we’ll head back as soon as we’ve seen Megan Penarth, Eb.’

‘Please, guv, it’s okay. As far as I could tell there’s nothing I can do. They’re merely informing me that my mother has committed an act of violence against another
inmate; they’ve given no further details. I am not rushing to her side. I wouldn’t be any help. We have work to do today and I don’t intend to dwell on my mother. Whatever her
reasons, whatever the scheme behind them, I can’t keep trying to work it out.’

‘Okay. I respect that, Eb, but if you change your mind, or you hear something to the contrary, let me know and you can get a train back up or hire a car and go.’

They went into the breakfast room, which had been the restaurant the previous evening, and were shown to their table by the window. It was the first time they had seen it in the light and they
looked out on clouds racing across the moors. Ponies were grazing in the hedge opposite their window. Tucker was last to appear. By the time he did, Carter had finished. Willis was on her second
plate of English breakfast from the buffet.

‘What a place.’ Tucker joined them at the table. ‘I could live out here, no problem. Couldn’t you?’

‘No,’ Carter answered.

Carter looked at Willis and tried hard to suppress a smile.

After breakfast they walked down through the village and up the lane to Megan Penarth’s house. They knocked at the door but she was out. They walked back up to the pub. The landlady,
Rachel, was clearing away breakfast.

‘We were hoping to catch Megan Penarth in but there’s no answer. There’s a car in the driveway. Do you know where she could be?’

‘She’s up at the quarry most days. If you’ve got walking boots, you just need to cross over at the top of this hill and you’ll be on the moors; you’ll see Haytor in
front of you, right at the top. Instead of walking straight up towards it, take a detour right and you’ll see the quarry. The front entrance is there through a gate behind the granite
pile.’

‘Thanks. Great help.’

‘Have we got wellingtons?’ asked Tucker. They looked at one another.

‘Straight answer – no,’ said Carter. ‘We’ll just have to prepare to get muddy.’

They set off up the hill and crossed the road. They kept to the tufts of grass between the bog areas frosted with ice as they walked up towards the Tor and then veered right. They found the
entrance to the quarry and opened the gate. Saplings had rooted on the sides of the cliff face. Beyond them was a sheer drop.

‘Christ, that’s a long way down,’ said Carter as he stepped closer to the edge.

‘You’d think you wouldn’t be allowed to have something so dangerous without a railing in front of it,’ said Willis, recoiling from the edge.

‘Willis – you’re such a townie!’ Tucker laughed at her. ‘It’s not all about sanitizing. This isn’t Disneyworld.’

‘Point taken – but you’ve got to have deaths off here?’

‘Suicides, yes, tragically, and the odd dog falls off, or sheep.’

‘Clever sheep to open the gate,’ said Carter.

‘There’s another way to get in here from the back,’ said Tucker.

Willis looked down at the frozen water. ‘How deep is it?’

‘Fathomless.’ Tucker turned back and smiled at her. He was enjoying exposing the Londoners to a bit of ridicule. ‘Legend has it – it has no bottom to it and it calls for
a new victim to be sacrificed to it every year.’

‘Cut the crap, Tucker.’ Carter stopped walking and listened – the icy wind had dropped as they descended into the quarry. There was an oppressive stillness. As they walked
further down and wound their way around the outside of the first of the three lakes, they saw a figure standing at the far side, in a sharp cut-out in the granite rock. The figure turned and
studied them.

Megan Penarth came down from her place and walked towards them. In her hand were bunches of bright yellow gorse; she was watching the three people but she kept her eyes mainly on Tucker. When
she was within hearing distance, she said, ‘Strangers in the quarry – always a bad idea in civilian clothes.’ She smiled. ‘Detective Tucker, I presume?’

‘Morning, Megan. I’ve brought a couple of Londoners down to talk to you.’

‘Great – fresh meat.’ She came level with them and smiled at Carter. ‘Only joking.’ Her eyes were red-rimmed from the cold. Willis waited her turn. Megan glanced
round to acknowledge her and there was a peculiar softness in her eyes. She reached out to touch Willis on the hand. ‘You’re freezing.’

Willis felt no warmth coming from Megan’s hand – it was a block of ice. Willis shivered.

‘This is an eerie place,’ Tucker said, looking about him.

‘Yes, the place of legends.’

Willis was distracted, looking at a bunch of roses drying on a rock. Her eyes went upwards to the top of the cliff directly above.

‘It’s a sad place sometimes, did you hear about the tragedy of the suicide a couple of months ago?’ asked Megan.

‘I saw it on the news. It was here?’

‘Yes.’

‘It would be awful to come here for that; such a lonely-feeling place,’ said Willis.

‘Ideal then.’ Megan smiled at her. ‘It’s not that lonely for me. I am surrounded by friends here.’

‘I was telling them about the legends here. The water claims another person each year,’ Tucker said.

‘You’re thinking of the legend about the River Dart crying when it wants to claim a new heart. They say it’s a meteorological fact that it makes the sound like crying when the
weather is getting bad, gales are coming and the river is swelling. I suppose in the old days when people had to cross it, there were many lives lost. It must have seemed like a curse. But here in
this quarry, the water doesn’t ever disappear. It’s very deep. Surprising it freezes as often as it does.’

‘You love it here?’ asked Willis, looking around at the granite rockface.

‘Yes, I do. My husband loved it here. He came here every day. He was a Wiccan. A Wiccan believes in the power of nature’s spirits.’

‘What about you?’ asked Carter.

‘Yes – I guess I believe in it too. I believe in two gods – the Moon Goddess and the Horned God.’ She smiled at the expression that was creeping across his face.
‘It’s just the male and female sides of the universe, equal and necessary to one another. Yin and yang.’

‘You’re a witch too?’ asked Carter.

‘Not really. I just believe in the power of certain things: moon, stars, earth, sun.’

Her dark eyes were watching him intently – they were bright in the gloom.

‘What is it about this quarry that makes it special to you?’ asked Carter. ‘The landlady at the pub says you come up here most days.’

She shook her head. ‘Just a world of its own in here. Its own climate; its own life. I feel connected here. It gives me inspiration for my work. There – I’ve made you think
I’m a complete nutter. Do you want to follow me back to my coven for a witch’s brew, otherwise known as a coffee?’

‘Sounds perfect.’ Carter smiled.

‘Come with me.’

She led them back and up out of the quarry.

Halfway up, Willis stopped.

‘Megan, do you mind me asking? What happens to Wiccans when they die?’

Megan stopped and turned and smiled at Willis.

‘You feel their presence here, don’t you?’

‘Just curious.’

‘Decomposition should happen as fast as possible. No casket, just a cloth and then laid in the ground, or left in the air, placed in the water, so that you can nourish other life
quickly.’

‘Are there places you can bury someone like that?’

‘Yes.’

She turned and led them away from the quarry.

‘Please come in, sit down. Make yourselves comfortable.’ They took their muddy shoes off at the door and stepped inside the warm kitchen as Megan stood on a stool
and hung the gorse up to dry from the hooks above the dresser. She got down and slid the kettle across onto the top of the Aga.

‘What can I help you with? You have questions you’d like answers to?’

‘Since the last time I saw you, have you had any calls from the women on the list or contact with Ellerman?’ asked Tucker. ‘I understand you went to meet some of the other
women.’

‘Yes . . . I did . . . last Wednesday. I went to Reading, to meet them in a coffee shop.’

‘Who did you meet exactly?’

‘I met Paula, Emily and Lisa. I can’t believe Lisa is dead.’

‘Who told you?’ asked Carter.

‘Paula – she was very upset – we all are.’

‘Do you and Paula talk often?’

She laughed. ‘We have a lot in common.’

‘How did the meeting go?’ asked Carter. Willis was already taping Megan Penarth’s voice but it hadn’t escaped her notice.

‘It went fine.’ She smiled curiously at Willis.

‘Who called the meeting?’

‘Me.’

‘Why? What reason did you have to do it?’

‘I called the meeting because I felt we all had a lot to discuss – after all, I was the newcomer in terms of knowing JJ but some of these women had known him for years. I felt they
needed support. I mean, how difficult must it be to find out something like that?’

‘Something like what?’

‘Like the fact you’re part of a harem.’

‘How did you part that day?’

‘As friends, I hope.’

‘How did you leave it? Were there any decisions made about going forward?’

‘Going forward?’ Megan asked. Willis wrote in her notebook:
She repeats question – giving her time to think of an answer.

‘We left it in the air – we decided to support one another as best we could.’