The Sting of Death (24 page)

‘Double-handedly, you mean.’

‘But if you want to keep on at it, I’m not stopping you. I haven’t forgotten that it was me who brought you in on it in the first place. And now you’ve got such a personal commitment to it as well …’ he clasped his hands together in a parody of congratulatory ardour, ‘… who am I to get in your way?’

‘Shut up,’ she said. ‘Or I won’t tell you what else Den told me.’

‘I haven’t got time to listen now, anyway,’ he said. ‘Wait until I get back.’

Over a lunch of bread, cheese, salad and fruit, provided by Karen, Maggs filled him in on the rest of Den’s information. ‘Penn was injected into the heart with some kind of local anaesthetic. The sort they use on animals.’

‘Did she do it herself?’

‘Doubtful, they think.’ She watched his face, wondering how much attention she was getting, and finding the answer unsatisfactory.

‘Drew, I’ve got a few ideas as to what might
have happened. Not just to Penn, but the little girl as well. Do you want to hear them?’

He chewed for a moment. ‘Go on, then.’

She was interrupted before she could start. A car pulled up outside the office and two uniformed policemen emerged from it. ‘Here we go,’ Drew realised. ‘Time for your interview. Or did you say I was to go first?’

‘You first. Don’t worry, mate, I’ll see yer all right,’ she growled. ‘Every visiting day, without fail – I’ll be right there, with yer favourite cakes.’

‘Don’t let the children forget me,’ he pleaded.

‘Not a chance. We’ll sit them in front of the video where you’re burying that old vagrant, every blessed day. Don’t you worry about that.’

The police were at the door. Drew struggled for composure as he opened it. Maggs was snorting behind him. ‘This is very generous of you,’ he said. ‘Providing transport, I mean.’

‘All part of the service, sir,’ said one of the men genially. ‘We’re to use the Taunton office, for convenience. It’s a long way from here to Okehampton. All we need is a statement and a signature.’

‘And you’re bringing me back, then collecting Miss Beacon?’ He could hardly believe the trouble they were taking.

‘That’s it, sir. No sense in disrupting your business if we can avoid it.’

Maggs watched them go and then tapped in another text to Den.

How goes it? I have ideas. Ring me, office, soon.

Cooper and Timms spent most of Monday morning in Crediton. Den’s mood, like Maggs’s, was transformed. ‘What’s happened to you?’ Bennie marvelled, as he whistled in the car.

‘Oh, nothing much. Had a nice day at the seaside yesterday, that’s all.’

This time they used the keys that had been found in Penn’s handbag and let themselves into the small terraced house. No neighbours appeared to challenge them, and nothing stirred once they were inside.

Wearing rubber gloves, they rapidly examined every room. In the living room, Den lifted the phone and keyed 1471. It had become standard procedure in recent years, with sometimes remarkably helpful results. He stared at the number he’d jotted down, with the date and time beside it. ‘She doesn’t get many calls,’ he commented. ‘This goes back to the middle of last week.’

‘Everyone uses mobiles these days,’ Bennie said. ‘Presumably her friends all know she’s away.

Den continued to stare at the number. ‘It looks familiar.’ He fished out his notebook and flipped through a few pages. ‘Yes! It’s Gladcombe Farm.’

‘The Rentons or Justine?’

‘Rentons. Justine’s cottage hasn’t got a phone.’

He then pressed the Redial button for good measure. The phone was answered promptly. ‘Elmcroft Hotel. How may I help you?’ chirruped a female voice.

‘Oh!’ Den feigned surprise, thinking quickly. ‘Is that the Elmcroft Hotel in Edinburgh?’

‘No, sir. We’re in Bournemouth.’

‘Oh dear. Silly me. I’m sorry to have troubled you.’

‘What was all that about?’ Bennie demanded.

‘She called the hotel, that’s all. Nothing very surprising about that, I suppose.’

There was nothing untoward about the contents of the house downstairs. It was uncluttered, tidy, much as Den remembered it from his earlier visit to Penn. Upstairs they found a supply of contraceptive pills in three unopened packs. ‘We knew she was on the Pill,’ said Bennie. ‘There was half a pack in her handbag.’

‘How thorough are we being?’ Den asked, never happy about rifling through personal belongings.

‘Fairly. Letters-and-diaries thorough, but not
dirty-washing-and-dustbins,’ she suggested.

‘Right.’ They opened drawers and cupboards, looked under the bed, reached up to the top of the wardrobe and medicine cabinet, opened jewellery boxes and suitcases. They found in a small overnight bag a meagre collection of letters, minus envelopes, held together by a rubber band. Also in the bag was a long T-shirt of the sort used for bed, a pair of socks, a bottle of expensive perfume and a toothbrush in a plastic bag.

There were five letters in total, each one only a single sheet of notepaper. They were unsigned, undated and with no address. 

‘It’s an assignation,’ said Bennie unnecessarily. ‘It looks quite recent. Not at all faded, anyway.’

‘Where’s Krakow?’

‘Poland, I think.’

‘Her father’s Polish,’ Den remembered. ‘It couldn’t possibly be from him, could it?’

Bennie’s eyes widened. ‘Hardly,’ she spluttered, before reading it again. ‘Well,’ she amended, ‘it doesn’t actually mention sex in so many words, does it.’

‘And people do sometimes have sex with their fathers,’ Den said conscientiously. Bennie slapped his arm and made a hissing sound. ‘Sorry,’ he grinned.

‘We can use the house for a change
,’ Bennie murmured. ‘It certainly sounds like sex. But it could just as easily be a game of ping-pong, or making bait for fly fishing, or …’

‘Trimming bonsai trees or framing pictures,’ Den contributed. ‘Or about five million other things.’

‘It sounds like sex to me,’ said Bennie.

‘Why didn’t the bugger sign it?’ Den grumbled. ‘Better have a look at the others.’

The other letters were even briefer and all
named a day and a time for a meeting. Endearments were sprinkled liberally and one made reference to a ‘delicious perfume’.

‘It has to be a married man, scared to use the phone because everything’s itemised, waiting for a moment when the wife is sure to be out,’ Bennie concluded.

‘I think you’re right,’ Den said. ‘So I wonder who J is.’

He phoned Maggs as soon as he read her latest message. ‘We found some letters at Penn’s house,’ he told her, well aware that he was breaching strict rules of procedure. ‘Love letters, by the look of them, arranging meetings that sound like … er … well, a love affair. Possibly with a married man. Mentions a person called “J”. That’s it, basically. You realise I shouldn’t be telling you. Bennie was with me this morning, so I couldn’t phone then.’

‘That’s OK,’ she forgave him lingeringly. ‘Now listen to this—’ she confided several of her thoughts and some of her intentions. He shivered at her courage and sheer youthful energy.

‘I almost wish you hadn’t told me any of that,’ he said. ‘I’ll have to pretend I never knew about it, if it goes wrong. I suppose I don’t need to tell you not to take any silly risks? And keep me posted.’

‘No, sir. Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.’

His responding laugh was half-hearted and she was left wondering whether he was always so melancholy or only when he had a new girlfriend.

Den was left in an agonising dilemma, torn between his duties as a police officer and his profound admiration and awe in the face of Maggs’s outrageous plans.

Immediately after work, having sailed through her police interview with perfect composure, Maggs went on her motorcycle to Roma Millan’s in Pitcombe. She trotted up the path as if she was one of the family.

‘Come on, both of you,’ she ordered Roma and Justine. ‘We’re going out. Bring a camera and a tape recorder if you’ve got one. And some sort of bell or whistle. Something that makes a really loud noise.’

‘Tape recorder?’ Roma looked blank. ‘I haven’t got one.’

‘There’s the video camera,’ Laurie suggested. ‘The one the boys gave me for Christmas. The battery might be flat, though.’ While he fetched it, Roma produced a large handbell from a cupboard. ‘Laurie uses this to summon me down from the field,’ she grinned.

The little red light on the video camera
advised them that the battery was alive and well, and Maggs grabbed it enthusiastically. ‘Great!’ she crowed. ‘The very thing.’

Roma drove, with Maggs next to her and Justine in the back. Maggs spent the entire journey coaching them in what they were going to do. At first Justine protested, partly afraid, partly appalled by the strength of Maggs’s argument.

‘Do as she says,’ Roma ordered. ‘She’s right. It’s obvious when you think about it. Why haven’t the police realised?’

‘They haven’t been trying,’ said Maggs. ‘Not really. It was always a something and nothing case to them.’

‘It won’t work.’ Justine shivered apprehensively. ‘I know it won’t.’

‘We keep at it until it does,’ said Maggs. ‘But I think you’ll be surprised.’

They parked under some trees and walked quietly up the track, Maggs in the lead. With no sign of life in the house, they made quickly for the big stone barn and scuttled inside. ‘Are you sure they’re in?’ Roma hissed. ‘I didn’t see any cars.’

‘They keep them round the far side of the house,’ said Justine. ‘I’ll go and have a look.’

Furtively she skirted the yard and disappeared from sight. A minute later she reappeared, thumb emphatically raised. ‘They’re both there,’ she
breathed, when she was safely back inside the barn.

‘Right – ladder,’ Maggs ordered. A lightweight metal one was found standing against the wall leaning its top few rungs against a suspended floor about eighteen feet off the ground. As far as they could see, there was very little stored on the upper level. Justine’s brief moment of exhilaration seemed to evaporate as they stood back and gazed upwards. ‘Oh, God,’ she whimpered. ‘It’s terribly high.’

‘Hold on, now,’ Roma tapped her on the back. ‘Don’t spoil everything.’

‘Let me just fix the camera somewhere,’ Maggs puffed, halfway up the ladder. ‘Probably at the top here, with a bit of hay to hide it. I hope I remember to set it going.’

‘Lucky they haven’t got a dog,’ Roma commented. ‘Or they’d have been out here by now.’

‘We’d have handled a dog,’ Maggs boasted confidently. ‘There’s no stopping us now. Right, Roma, come on up.’

It took a further couple of minutes for them to get themselves settled and then Maggs called down to Justine, ‘Your turn! Give it hell.’ Justine bent and picked up the bell from the floor and began to ring it with all her might. The noise was deafening. She walked to the barn door and
kept on ringing until she saw the farmhouse door begin to open. Retreating quickly, she gave one last peal for good measure, dropped the bell and shimmied up the ladder, until her face was just level with the upper floor.

Philip and Sheena Renton appeared together in the barn doorway. ‘What the—’ shouted Philip. ‘Who’s that?’

‘Daddy! Penn! What are you doing?’ cried Justine in a little-girl voice. ‘Oh, Daddy, why have you taken your trousers off? And Penn looks funny.’

Roma, in mock rage, appeared at the top of the ladder. ‘Bloody hell, child, what are you doing here?’ She made a lunge for Justine, who ducked and made a masterful impression of falling off the ladder, skimming down it and collapsing in a heap at the foot.

Maggs was now just visible, hand over her mouth. ‘Philip! My God, what have you done? Georgia! Get up, Georgia!’

She started down the ladder with some caution, Roma calling after her, ‘Don’t touch her. Wait for me.’

At the bottom, Maggs and Roma stood together, arms wrapped around each other. ‘She’s dead,’ growled Roma. ‘I can’t let Sheena know what happened. We can’t tell her about us yet. It’s too soon. Look, Penn, why don’t we
just fit Justine up? Make it look as if she was responsible.’

‘But how?’ Maggs turned trustful eyes upwards. ‘How could we do that?’

‘Let me think. Look, cover her up for a bit, and we’ll leave her until we’ve thought of something.’

A cry of outraged horror came from Philip Renton, at the same time as his wife stepped further into the barn, towards the still-crumpled heap that was Justine. It was as if she really believed it was her dead daughter. She turned back to her husband. ‘Is it true?’ she screamed. ‘Is this what happened?’

‘N-no, of course not,’ he blustered. But his face was deathly white and the fight seemed to have drained out of him.

‘It is,’ said Sheena more calmly. ‘You pushed her off that ladder and broke her neck.’

‘I didn’t push her. She slipped. I never touched her. She was only halfway up, too. She never even saw anything, just heard us up there. She should never even have hurt herself, but she landed awkwardly, I suppose.’ He buried his face in his hands and Maggs went slowly up the ladder again to retrieve the camera.

‘Thank you,’ she said to Philip, pressing a button. ‘I think I’ve got all that quite nicely.’

Sheena was kneeling beside Justine, who had
roused herself to a sitting position. They were both looking at Philip. The light in the barn was poor, with the sun almost setting outside. ‘You utterly loathsome bastard,’ Justine said, almost conversationally. ‘Your own child, and you just dumped her like a piece of rubbish. You must be subhuman to do a thing like that. You can’t even claim it was all done in a panic. You left her here all day, thinking it all through, right down to the bag of jelly babies. And Penn …’ she choked on her rage. ‘Penn helped you.’