The Valley of the Shadow (28 page)

“I see what you mean,” said Eleanor. “Can’t you just ask them?”

“We will. But in the meantime, I wondered whether you could shed any light on the subject?”

“Me! I’m sure you can come up with more possibilities than I can.”

“The obvious answer is that someone was going to pick them up by car. It would have to be someone local. Were you, by any chance, approached and asked to help?”

Eleanor looked him straight in the eye. “No. But if I had been, I would have.”

He sighed. “Naturally. I would expect nothing else of you. Where—” He was interrupted again, by the phone this time.

Exasperated, he gestured to Polmenna, who picked it up.

Eleanor suddenly remembered how upset Lois Prthnavi had been at the plight of Kalith and his family, even before anyone was certain of the family’s existence. Was it possible that Lois, without Rajendra’s knowledge, had been expecting them? Had she agreed to pick them up and drive them inland?

It was a wild speculation Eleanor intended to keep to herself.

“The super’s back, sir,” said Polmenna. “He wants to see you right away.”

“Tell him I’m on my way.” He stood up, leaning with both fists on the desk. “Where are you off to next, Mrs. Trewynn? I’d prefer you to stay within reach.”

“I’m going home, and I have no intention of going anywhere tomorrow.”

“Good. Don’t leave the county, in case I need to talk to you again. Please,” he added as an afterthought, turning away in dismissal. To Megan, he said, “Now that we have the list from the library and the reports from Boscastle, you can start going over the lot again, see if you come up with any bright ideas. When I’m done with Mr. Bentinck, we’ll go and talk to chummie downstairs. Polmenna, you’d better read everything, too. Oh, and Pencarrow, send young Arden to meet the … DS Faraday. Unless you’d rather fetch him yourself?”

“No, thanks, sir.”

“No use telling him we’ll expect him tomorrow morning at nine, I suppose?”

“Not when he’s staying at the White Hart just across the square. He’s not that sort of copper.”

“I was afraid not.” Scumble turned to leave and saw Eleanor. “Still here, Mrs. Trewynn? Changed your mind about coming clean?”

“Certainly not. That is, I have nothing to come clean about, Inspector. I’d like just a quick word with my niece.”

He shrugged and went out.

“What is it, Aunt Nell?”

“The things that nice child Julia lent you—I expect you’ve been too busy to parcel them up and post them back to her. As I’m here, I could pick them up from your flat and deal with them when I get home.”

“I haven’t washed the shirt yet.”

“I’ll do it. It will dry overnight in the airing cupboard.”

“Thanks. Ask my landlady for the key. And
please,
Aunt Nell, remember to lock the door and give it back to her.”

“Of course, dear.”

Polmenna, already studiously bent over a stack of papers, looked round and gave her a wink.

*   *   *

The sun shone down on Bodmin Moor. Eleanor knew the ground would be soggy after the heavy rain, so she took Teazle to the old airfield near Davidstow for a short walk. Teazle arrived back at the car with a muddy tummy anyway. Luckily, Eleanor had remembered to put the dog’s towel back in the boot after washing it.

When they reached Port Mabyn, Eleanor parked at the top of the hill. The car park at the bottom was probably soggy if not actually flooded, and though the sun still shone, she didn’t trust it. She didn’t want to find herself unable to get the Incorruptible out of its shed tomorrow. She’d told Scumble she wasn’t going anywhere, but one never knew …

She nearly stopped at the vicarage on the way down, to ask Jocelyn whether she had rung the Plymouth hospital to ask after Kalith and his mother. Then she remembered it was Joce’s day for the LonStar shop. It was nearly closing time. She’d be packing up for the day.

And thinking of closing time, Eleanor hadn’t shopped for supper. She didn’t feel like cooking. Baked beans on toast it would have to be. She was sure she had a tin of beans, less sure whether there was any bread left. She was nearly home by this time, so she popped into the bakery opposite. The only wholemeal loaf they had left was Hovis, which she didn’t much care for. She bought it anyway.

Working out who was responsible for the Nayaks’ plight would be much simpler, she thought crossly, if one didn’t also have to shop and cook and dust and hoover and wash clothes and …

Oh, botheration! She’d left Julia’s clothes in the car.

As she was crossing the street, two volunteers came out of the shop. They exchanged greetings, and Eleanor and Teazle went on into the shop. Jocelyn locked the door behind her, turning the sign to
CLOSED.

“Did you find time to ring Plymouth?” Eleanor asked. “The hospital?”

“Yes,” Jocelyn said grumpily. “All they’d say is that Kalith and his mother are both resting comfortably. It could mean they’re on the road to recovery or on their last legs.”

“That’s what they told the police, too. It must mean Kalith hasn’t been able to talk yet, don’t you think? or someone from Launceston would have gone to see him. I’ve been—”

“Eleanor, I’ve got to check the receipts, and Timothy and I have an early meeting this evening.”

“Let me know when you’re ready to leave. I’ll walk up the hill with you.”

She went out through the stockroom and up to her flat, leaving her door open. The taste of police tea lingered in her mouth, so she put on the kettle. But just as she poured the boiling water into the pot, Jocelyn called up the stairs.

By the time Eleanor got back, the tea would be as stewed as the muck she had been served in Launceston.

“Coming!” She clipped Teazle’s lead on again. Teazle, of course, was delighted.

“Did you bring your keys?” Jocelyn asked as they went out through the street door. She had her own keys in her hand ready to lock it.

“No, I—”

“Oh, Eleanor, I wish you’d try to remember! It’s the shop’s security, as well as your flat.”

“I’ll only be gone a few minutes. Come on! I left something in the car up at the top.”

“Your keys, no doubt.”

“No, actually. You
are
in a mood.”

“Sorry to snap. Mrs. Davies isn’t feeling well and can’t come in tomorrow, so I’ll have to. It’s really very inconvenient. I wish you’d learn to operate the cash register.”

“It was you who banned me from touching it. But I must say I’m glad you’ll be in the shop tomorrow.”

“What!”

“That is, I’m sorry you have to give up your day and I’m sorry Mrs. Davies is ill, but I’m glad I won’t have to deal with her.” Mrs. Davies, the chapel minister’s wife, had a permanent grievance because the vicar’s wife was in overall charge of the shop.

They had reached the vicarage. Jocelyn paused with her hand on the gate. “Whatever do you mean? Why would you have to deal with her?”

“Joce, the Nayaks have practically nothing. I’m sure the Red Cross people have done their best, but they need … Well, it would be much easier to list what they do have. I was thinking, if you’d pick out as much stuff from the shop as you can in the morning, I could deliver it in the afternoon. If you think the donors would object, I’ll pay for it.”

“I’ll worry about that later. What do they already have?”

It didn’t take long to tell her. “You’ll help?” Eleanor asked.

Jocelyn bridled. “Need you ask? I’ll see what I can do. You’d better take my car. You can fit more in.”

“
Thank
you, my dear. I’d like to tell you more about them. I won’t keep you now, Joce, but can you come to lunch tomorrow? Leave something cold for Timothy for once.”

“He gets in such a fuss if I’m not there. Or he forgets to eat. Why don’t you come and have lunch with us. He’ll be interested, too.”

“All right. Thanks.” After baked beans for supper, Eleanor wasn’t going to turn down an invitation to a good lunch.

“I’ll tell you what, I’ll ring Mrs. Plover—”

“Who?”

“The wife of the vicar of St. Petroc’s in Bodmin. She can mobilise her forces to do something for the Indians this evening.”

“Thank you, Joce. It would relieve my mind.”

Eleanor fetched Julia’s shirt and pullover from the car. The woollie would have to make do with a thorough airing, or she wouldn’t be able to post it tomorrow. She washed the scarlet polo-neck and hung it over the bath to drip dry, hoping it wouldn’t need ironing. Whatever it said on the label, you could never tell, and she did dislike ironing.

She fed Teazle and ate her baked beans with Hovis toast and a grated carrot and apple salad. Then she went next door to see Nick.

He opened the door looking gloomy. “Hello, Eleanor. Come in.”

“What’s wrong?”

“The painting I’ve been sweating over for two days isn’t working.”

“Oh dear.” If it wasn’t working, it must be one of the kind of pictures she didn’t understand, because he could paint a tourist landscape with both eyes closed and one hand tied behind his back. “I wish I could help.”

Nick was already heading back to his studio, so she closed the shop door and followed. He stood scowling at the canvas on one of his easels. “
Isle of the Dead.
The trouble is, it’s based on music that is based on a painting, and I can’t get the original painting out of my head.”

Eleanor ventured to take a peek. She couldn’t make head or tail of it, except that it was sort of mysterious and vaguely sinister. “This may be a silly idea, but could you call it something else?”

He grinned at her. “You never know. What would you suggest?”

“Ummm …
Valley of the Shadow
?”

“Why not? You’re thinking of Rocky Valley, aren’t you? That’s what inspired me in the first place. Have you heard how Kalith is doing?”

“He’s still alive, or was last I heard. The hospital’s being very cagy, even with the police. Or with CaRaDoC, at least. The Plymouth police— Oh, Nick, are you busy this evening? I don’t want to distract you from rethinking your picture, but I absolutely must talk about everything or I’ll burst. Jocelyn has one of those blasted parish meetings.”

“Come on up. We’ll have a … Did we finish off the whisky?”

“Not before I left!”

“Then you can have a tot and I’ll have a beer. All right, spill the beans.”

Eleanor told him everything, including Scumble’s suspicions of her being involved in the final stage of the plot, though not her own about Lois Prthnavi. “The thing is, I would have been if I’d been asked.”

“But you weren’t,” Nick said firmly. “And if you had been, you still wouldn’t have actually done anything to break the law, any more than that unfortunate fisherman. I’d have thought the police had far too much on their plates finding the real villain to worry about prosecuting the poor chap for conspiracy, if that’s the idea. They don’t seem to have much in the way of clues.”

“They know more than I do, and I have a feeling I just need to put the pieces together in the right order to make sense of it all.”

“Are you sure that isn’t just the whisky speaking?”

“Really, Nick! I wish you’d put your mind to it and help me think it through.”

“Then let’s start at the beginning, with Megan rescuing Kalith. Is there anything in that? Could there be something fishy in Julia and Chaz turning up so opportunely? Hardly. No one could predict Kalith’s taking to the water, nor when and where he’d end up.”

“No.” So much had happened since then that Eleanor hadn’t taken it into consideration. Now she remembered: “But Julia told me Chaz’s family is in shipping.”

“The Averys? I didn’t—”

“Avery? Is that his surname? Oh, yes, he told the inspector. How odd! The man in the phone box was Mr. Avery. Can it be a coincidence?”

“Seems highly unlikely. One of the kids did say Chaz’s father was going to pick them up from Boscastle the next day.”

“Julia said his father isn’t in the shipping business. A solicitor? Something like— Oh, an architect, I think. A very rude man.”

“Or a man too worried about what the shipping side of the family was up to to care about politeness?” Nick proposed.

“He was oddly dressed, almost like a halfhearted attempt at a disguise. And Abel Tregeddle mentioned a man trying to pump the boatmen in Boscastle harbour about smuggling, who wasn’t interested in history.”

They looked at each other.

“I haven’t yet returned Chaz’s clothes to him.”

“I promised Megan to get Julia’s back to her. I was going to post them, but I’ve got to drive to Bodmin tomorrow anyway … It’ll have to be after lunch.”

“Suits me,” said Nick.

TWENTY-SEVEN

DS Kenneth Faraday of Scotland Yard, alias the Boy Wonder, was waiting when Megan and Scumble went back upstairs after interviewing the Boscastle fisherman. Though “waiting” was too passive a word: Sitting at Megan’s desk, he had appropriated the reports on the case and was already halfway through them.

He stood up, good-looking as ever in his unobtrusive Savile Row suit. “Good evening, sir. Hello, Megan.”

“Evening, Sergeant.” Scumble sat down at his desk.

“Hello, Ken.” Megan was dismayed to find that, though she had long ago got over her infatuation, he still made her feel inadequate.

He smiled at her as if he knew. “Anything new, sir?”

“No. Just that we’re ninety-nine percent certain the original intention was not to maroon the family. Arrangements had been made to have them picked up.”

“Made by whom, sir?”

“That’s what we’re trying to find out!” Scumble snapped. “The boatman can’t tell us. Accommodation address in Plymouth—which may not be London but is a sizeable city, an international port with a shifting population. Payment made by giro from the main Plymouth post office. We let him go. He’s a Boscastle native. He’s not going anywhere. Pencarrow, get me Plymouth and let’s hope to God the bloody-minded super I talked to before is off duty tonight! Faraday, finish up that lot so you know what we’re talking about.”

Ken pushed the phone across the desk to Megan. It took her several minutes to get put through to a chief inspector, who said the superintendent was unavailable. “Can I help, Sergeant?”