Cold Justice (11 page)

‘DC Trevor Burns: sir, ma’am.’ He introduced himself as they reached him.

He led them inside the services, into the manager’s office.

‘Are the search teams still out?’ asked Carter.

‘Yes, we’ve got them going up alongside the roads in and out now. So far, they’ve found nothing else. We’ve reopened the lorry park.’

‘Can we meet the man who found the mittens?’ Carter asked.

‘Yes, sir, he’s waiting in the café area. Can I get you a coffee?’ Burns asked.

‘We’ll get one to go in a minute, thanks.’

Willis followed Carter across the café area. The cleaner was sitting at a table, fiddling with a coffee mug.

‘Viktor?’ Carter asked as he read the name badge on his uniform.

‘Yes, sir.’ He stood.

‘Can you show us exactly where you found the mittens?’

Viktor led them outside to the car park and then round to the cash machine.

‘How often do you check this area?’ asked Willis.

‘I check it every two hours. I start my shift here at eight o’clock in the morning.’

‘What time did you find the mittens?’

‘At six in the evening. It was the first time I’d seen the mittens.’

‘Do you think you would have noticed the mittens if they’d been there earlier?’ asked Carter as Willis walked around the back of the cashpoint. The litter had gathered there and was stacking up in the cracks and crevices. A round plastic lid to a takeaway coffee spun and scuttled along the car park.

He shrugged. ‘I don’t think so. But it’s possible – the wind was blowing so strong.’

‘How long have you worked here?’ asked Willis.

‘Three months, ma’am.’ Willis wrote it down.

‘Okay, thanks. Detective Burns?’ Carter walked away from the cleaner. ‘We intend to carry on now towards Cornwall.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Carter looked across at Willis as they were left alone. ‘What do you think?’

‘I think the person who has him is just an ordinary person. I mean, no one professional would have made these kind of mistakes. People who are used to abusing are masters at covering their tracks. This person is making clumsy mistakes. They may have taken money from the cashpoint. There’s a camera on it. It was blowing a gale. We can’t be sure when these were dropped unless forensics can tie something up for us.’

‘Are you ready to go?’ She nodded. Her eyes were still searching the car park.

‘Okay, then, let’s grab a drink. We still have another two and a half hours to go at least.’

They queued up for coffee and then headed back to the car. ‘Have you had a look at the info on where we’re headed?’ Carter asked when they got back in, carefully prising the top off his coffee.

Willis took out her iPad and settled.

‘ ‘‘Penhal is located between the lively resort of Penhaligon and the affluent village of Rockyhead,’’ ’ she read as she showed him a photo of sand dunes and sparkling blue seas. ‘It’s on the Camel Estuary. Famous for golden sands, sailing, seafood and more than a few second homes.’

‘I’m not surprised that Jeremy Forbes-Wright had a home there. I would if I could afford it.’

Willis hid a smile as she glanced his way and continued: ‘The beach at Penhal is well known for surfing.’

‘Anyone famous live there?’

‘A couple of authors I’ve never heard of. But a lot of famous people holiday in the area.’

‘How far is the Forbes-Wright house from the beach?’

Willis looked at the map. ‘Five-minute walk?’

‘Okay, I’m ready. Let’s hit the road,’ Carter said as he switched on the engine. ‘We need to liaise with the local CID first in Penhaligon.’

After half an hour of silence Willis glanced across at Carter. ‘You okay, guv?’

‘Yeah, just thinking about the burglary.’

‘It’s not a nice thing to happen.’

‘No, but it’s life, hey?’

‘Do you know what they took?’

‘They took pretty much everything that mattered to me material-wise: all the expensive stuff like the music system, cameras, jewellery.’ Willis looked at Carter’s wrist. He was still sporting the chunky gold bracelet that he always wore. ‘Yeah, luckily I didn’t lose absolutely all my stuff. It’s the personal things like photos and mementoes that you can’t replace. They just trashed stuff that wasn’t worth anything money-wise. Cabrina was up all night thinking of more things that must have been stolen. When she wasn’t making a list, she was crying. They took Archie’s christening gifts. That finished her off.’

‘I’m sorry, guv, it’s a horrible thing to happen.’

‘What about you – has anyone ever burgled your house?’

‘Ours? No. There’d be nothing to steal. I take my laptop to work every day and I don’t have anything else. Tina has a telly in her room, and that’s it.’

‘They could use her bra as a swag bag. They’d get loads in there.’

‘Dan Carter!’

‘Just saying, that’s all.’

‘I don’t think I have anything I would mind about losing,’ Willis said, as she opened a packet of crisps and offered it to Carter. He declined. ‘The things I treasure are all replaceable, like photos on my laptop. They’re out in cyberspace – I can easily get them back.’

Willis rested her head and watched the countryside pass by outside.

She sat up at the sound of a message coming through on her iPad. She balanced it on her lap.

‘It’s Robbo,’ she said. ‘He’s sent us through more information on the funeral-goers. He’s broken it down for us into connections and family ties and included a map of where they live.’

‘He’s good.’

‘He’s the best.’ She began to read from the screen. ‘Seven people went up that day from Penhal. There’s the Stokes family, they live on a farm about three miles from the beach,’ she said as she brought up the map as well. ‘There were three of them there: there’s Martin, obviously.’

‘That’s the man who lets Jeremy’s house?’

‘Yes. Then there were his two children: his son Towan, who’s thirty-three, and daughter Mawgan, who’s twenty-seven.’

‘Excuse me a minute, this is a farming family?’

‘Yes, they also own the farm shop in the village.’

‘So, what’s he doing looking after JFW’s house?’

‘Not sure. Robbo says he’s looked into that and there is no trace of a letting company or any tax files that match.’

‘A private arrangement, then.’

‘Seems like it.

‘Who else?’

‘Mary-Jane Trebethin and her son Jago.’

‘And they are?’

‘Mary-Jane, aged fifty-two, owns the dress shop in Penhal. She’s divorced. Lived there for thirty years. We don’t have anything on her son Jago except that he’s thirty-one.’

‘Okay, so that’s five down.’

‘Raymonds, of course.’

‘Six.’

‘The last one is Raymonds’ son, Marky.’

‘Raymonds has a son, still living in the village?’

‘Seems so. He owns the Surfshack – a shop on the beach. He’s thirty-one, unmarried.’

‘Does it seem strange to you that all these men are in their thirties and they still live near their mum and dad?’

‘Not really. You do?’

‘Yes, I suppose so, but London is a bit different from a tiny village in Cornwall. How do they make a good enough living?’

‘Not everyone needs a lot to be happy.’

‘We’ll see.’

After an hour and a half on the motorway and another hour on the dual carriageway, they saw the first signs for Penhaligon.

They followed the signs for Penhaligon town centre.

‘I came here on a lads’ weekend once,’ said Carter. ‘I could probably find the exact guesthouse we stayed in.’ He leaned forward at the wheel as he scanned the streets. ‘There it is.’ He pointed out a blue and white house with a stripy awning and a pub bench and chairs outside. ‘Atlantic Blue, that’s it. What a shit-hole, but a lot of fun.’

‘This place looks quite lively.’

‘Yes, too lively on a Saturday night. Big problems with antisocial behaviour – drunken louts like me coming down from the city.’

‘Second right now, guv.’ Willis read out the instructions from her phone.

‘I see it.’ They pulled into the police station car park. ‘This place looks original 1970s,’ Carter said as he got out of the car.

‘From the Met?’ asked the desk sergeant.

‘That’s right. Major Investigation Team 17; we’re expected by DS Pascoe, is he around?’

‘Yes. Hello, I’m Pascoe. Nice to meet you.’ A muscular-looking man in his late forties with a faint ginger stubble and a bald head that looked like it had taken a few knocks appeared from a door behind the counter, came round and shook both their hands. He had shovel-size hands and a nose that looked like it had been broken a few too many times.

‘I’ve got us an office.’ He led them down the corridor and through into a room at the end of the hall. ‘Hope this will be okay. You can have whatever you need, just ask. If we’ve got it, you can have it. I started a helicopter search of the area. I expect you’ll bring down more officers if the search intensifies?’

‘If we shift the emphasis to here, this place will be crawling.’ Carter looked around the office; it had space for ten people at least. ‘This is great, thanks. How far is it from Penhal?’

‘Can be forty minutes on a busy day.’

‘Can we look at other options nearer, if this investigation gets bigger?’

‘Of course, I have a place in mind in Penhal itself, just wasn’t sure what you’d want. I had a look at the file, what you’ve got so far, it’s a strange case; it’s not the father, then?’

‘We’re not ruling Toby out, but there was something going on that day that was out of his control and that makes me think twice about jumping to conclusions.’

‘The funeral, you mean?’

‘Yes, and the obvious show of strength from the villagers of Penhal. Plus, one of them is trying to buy up Jeremy Forbes-Wright’s holiday home. It looked like there was some pressure put on Toby at the funeral.’

‘Did you ever come across Jeremy Forbes-Wright?’ asked Willis as she began setting herself up on one of the computers.

‘Not personally. I was transferred from Bristol last year,’ Pascoe answered.

‘Did you hear about an ex-police sergeant who still lives in Penhal?’ Carter asked Pascoe as he made himself comfortable in one of the office chairs.

‘Raymonds, right?’

‘That’s it. What can you tell us about him?’

‘I can tell you that people consider him a legend around here. In his day he kept a tight hold on things. He looked after his own; villains who he considered worth saving were steered away from prosecution and into a rugby team or a job. He looked after his community and they loved him for it. You almost had to get his blessing before you could buy a house anywhere near the border with Penhal.’

‘Do you think it’s still like that?’

‘I think it is.’

‘Did you carry out a search of the property for us?’

‘Yes, it was interesting but not interesting enough. No sign of any recent activity in there. I would say it had been a month since anyone had stepped inside there: mail on the mat, spiders’ webs in the hallway. We did checks on electricity and gas usage and there was no increase in the last forty-eight hours. There is an alarm system installed there but it isn’t working. Here are the keys.’ He handed them across to Willis.

‘Thanks. Raymonds and another man called Martin Stokes are trying to buy Jeremy Forbes-Wright’s house off the son Toby already; he even approached him at the funeral service,’ said Willis.

‘Doesn’t surprise me. He’s single-minded when it comes to Cornwall for the Cornish. I’ve had a look at the local interest for you. The Stokes family come top of the list. Martin Stokes is a shady character.’

‘Why would Raymonds have anything to do with someone like that?’

‘He’s a cousin of Raymonds on his mother’s side. He came to live in Penhal in the 1960s. Ever since then his presence has been growing. He owns a farm. It was a small affair when he bought it, now it’s extended to take in the neighbour’s land as well.

‘Raymonds was questioned over corruption when Stokes was caught with a missing minor on his farm – turned out to be his cleaner’s child, who was reported missing from Penhaligon. It was never explained how the boy came to be in a room at Stokes’ farm. Charges were dropped and it was all glossed over.’

‘So,’ said Carter, ‘you have to ask the question, why did Raymonds tolerate Jeremy Forbes-Wright all those years if he was such a hater of all second-home owners?’

‘He would never do anything unless it was for the benefit of Penhal.’

‘Raymonds is going to have to tolerate us and a lot more besides if this investigation ends up down here. He’ll have a hard job shrugging us off when the search teams arrive in their hundreds.’

‘Well, it’s about time the old silverback got tested.’ Pascoe grinned.

‘If it does we’ll need to set up a base in the village itself,’ said Carter.

‘We can get someone down there to set you up in the old station. It’s the tourist office now but would be ideal to use. Ironically it was where Raymonds ruled,’ said Pascoe.

‘We’d better go and take a look at the residents of Penhal. Thanks for this,’ Carter said as he shook Pascoe’s hand.

‘I’ll be up in the helicopter again in a couple of hours,’ said Pascoe. ‘I’ll send you video footage directly to your tablet. Any areas you’re particularly interested in, let me know.’

‘Is the coastguard alerted?’

‘Yes. Fishermen will be helpful. They tend to find the floaters first. I’ve put all that in place.’

They said goodbye in the corridor and Willis and Carter left.

Willis read out the directions as they made their way to the coast and the road turned into winding lanes.

‘When we come to a fork in the road we can choose to go left towards the shops and the beach or right towards the hotel where we’re staying.’

‘Try the beach, shall we? You said the house is near there?’

‘Yes.’ Willis opened her window. ‘You can smell it. You can hear the sea.’ She kept her window down. ‘Can’t you?’ Carter nodded and smiled.

They followed the signs down to where the road levelled out at the entrance to the beach, pulled into a small car park and parked up to watch the waves. From there they could look across to the parade of shops on the opposite side of the road from the start of the beach. The Stokes farm shop was on the far left, and Mary-Jane Trebethin’s dress shop was towards the middle of the six shops. There was a gift shop and newsagent and a small grocer’s on the end. On the same side as the car park and the Surfshack, at the other side of the beach entrance, was a café.