Buried in Cornwall (17 page)

But where to start? She did not have a counterpart to Doreen Clarke there who knew everyone and all their business. Unless, she thought, she could rely on Maddy who saw all and said little.

There had been a meeting between Jack Pearce, his chief inspector and the superintendent and the conclusion drawn from it was that Jack’s theory was more than worth a try. The forensic tests were still under way and the results not expected for several days. And now the Met was involved. Elimination, they said, was often as vital as hard evidence, and that was where the London lot could help them.

Over the holiday period only a skeleton forensic team were on duty in the lab they used. This would slow things down further but the results were useless unless they were accurate.

27th December. There were four days until
Rose’s party. Jack had optimistically told himself that at least one of the cases might be solved by then and he would be free to attend.

All Jack’s hopes were now pinned on forensic evidence, but he knew how long he’d have to wait for it.

Several divisions had already come back with negative faxes regarding the identity of the first victim but there were still many to go. The reinterviewing of the suspects had provided little that was new except that it was now certain that Daniel Wright had had an affair with Jenny and his wife had known about it. Questioned individually, each had admitted it. The affair had been over for some time and although it gave them each a motive Jack thought it more likely that if Stella had been insanely jealous she would have acted immediately and if Daniel had been afraid of being found out he would not have confessed voluntarily. Still, sometimes emotions could simmer beneath the surface before they finally erupted.

Rose had been wrong, it seemed. Stella and Daniel swore they had been together after the preview. He did not want them to be guilty; he wanted Nick Pascoe to be the culprit because he was the most likely candidate and for a reason
to which he did not care to admit. But that still leaves the problem of the first woman, he realised, then cursed for the lack of available evidence.

‘I’ll do it.’ Rose stood in her sitting-room window, much as she did every morning of her life. Having decided to let the weather dictate her movements she had no option but to go ahead. But this time I’ll be prepared, she told herself. She was almost certain she knew who was trying to frighten her and, if this assumption was correct, then it was not the same person who had killed Jennifer Manders, in which case she would not be in any real danger.

A flawless blue sky stretched into the distance and the water in the bay sparkled beneath it. Many fishermen were heading out to sea. Having landed just before Christmas they could not afford to waste good weather now.

Her resolve unwavering, Rose set off with her painting equipment.

In jeans, sweatshirt and a body warmer the chill in the air ought not to penetrate. And there was always her waxed jacket which lived on the back seat of the car. Her hair was tied back firmly to prevent it blowing forward on to her palette which she tended to hold high up and close to
her body. As she drove she wondered if someone would be there ahead of her.

She parked and got out of the car. There was no one in sight and nothing different about the place yet Rose felt uneasy. She walked around the engine house, her hand shielding her eyes from the low winter sun as she planned from which angle to paint it. Glancing back, she checked how far away the car was if she needed to get to it in a hurry. It was unlocked. There would be no fumbling with the key.

The rocks cast strange shadows, but Rose was not afraid of shadows. She took out a sketchpad and soft pencil and drew a few lines. After forty minutes nothing had happened and only once had she been disturbed by a rustling in the undergrowth, which was too low to contain anything other than wildlife. Why then was she suddenly afraid? The hairs on the nape of her neck prickled. She turned her head slowly. There was nothing to see her but the rolling countryside, the boulders and the bracken and a crow wheeling in the sky. Had she heard someone approaching? People knew where she was, would know where to look if anything happened to her, but they were the wrong people and by that time it would be too late. How stupid she was to have come.
Breathing deeply, she steadied herself. If she was in danger it was no good falling apart, she must be prepared. The winter sun was now lower still and made her squint. It was time to go home. She stood and stretched. More time had passed than she realised. Nothing was going to happen now.

‘Rose?’ The voice reverberated in the thin air.

‘Jesus!’ Instantly she froze. Her body was rigid, every muscle tense. Unable to move, she was close to hysteria. Then, just as quickly, her limbs took on a strange quality of fluidity as if they had turned from steel to blancmange. Adrenalin pumped through her veins and dictated movement. With a dry mouth and thudding heart she grabbed her belongings and ran towards the car, flinging everything in ahead of her haphazardly.

There was a rustling and someone grabbed her arm. She screamed. This time it was her own voice which echoed in the still air.

‘My God, woman! I’m not that bad.’

It was seconds before she realised that Peter Dawson, who had jumped back in alarm, was standing a yard or so away, staring at her as if she was mad – which, indeed, she felt she was at that moment. What was he doing there? But he couldn’t have been the one to frighten
her previously because they had not met until Maddy’s get-together. Until that day he had probably never heard of her. Rose saw the utter stupidity in having gone there alone. She took a deep breath. Her heart was pounding so loudly that she thought Peter must hear it too.

‘Okay, so why so terrified?’ He stood with his arms folded revealing the threadbare elbows of his mustard-coloured needle-cord jacket.

Rose shook her head. Fright had rendered her speechless.

‘Do you want to walk for a minute to steady your nerves, or would you rather sit down?’

‘Sit,’ Rose managed to say.

‘Let me take your arm.’ This time he gave her warning. His touch was gentle as he led her to an outcrop of rock, smooth enough upon which to sit. ‘What happened? The minute I called your name you took off as if the devil himself was after you.’

‘It was your fault. I didn’t see you. You scared the living daylights out of me.’ She was trembling from head to foot.

‘Look, I don’t think you’re up to talking yet. Why don’t we find a pub and I’ll buy you a drink, or coffee, or whatever you want.’

‘Thank you.’ It sounded like a good idea.
And at least there would be other people around. Then it struck her. ‘How did you get here? Where did you come from?’

‘I drove, of course. How else? And there’s another way in over there.’ Peter pointed. Rose, peering into the distance, saw only deep shadows and realised why she had not seen him. ‘I called at your place first hoping to change your mind about coming out here. I may not intermingle much but I still hear what goes on. It was a stupid risk to take. I wanted to dissuade you.’

Rose looked around and Peter interpreted her bewilderment. ‘I’m parked out on the verge. I know you can see the engine house from the road but I had no idea there was access to it by car. I imagined it would’ve been fenced off for safety reasons. Anyway, you follow me. I’ll go slowly. Okay?’

He escorted her back to the car and walked on ahead to his own, which was some way away – this explained why Rose had not been disturbed by the sound of its engine, But her instincts had been working overtime. She
had
known there was someone there. She drove automatically, letting Peter set the pace.

They came to the St Ives junction where Rose assumed Peter would indicate to turn off but he
continued on past it. Who cares? She thought, the nearer home for me the better. The roads were quiet in that no man’s land of post-Christmas and pre-New Year. A cattle truck lumbered towards them, the driver’s visor down against the increasingly lowering sun. In the distance the purple clouds of evening were already building up. On they went, Rose keeping a respectable distance behind Peter although she could have driven faster now. They were in Penzance before he stopped, parking on the sea front where couples and family groups strolled and children rode their new bikes or sailed past on rollerblades. The tide was in and was slapping against the sea wall with a gentle suction. Droplets of spray flew over the railings. Rose locked the car and inhaled deeply, breathing away the last of her fear, calm enough now to appreciate the sharp, clean air in her lungs.

‘The Navy’s open,’ Peter said, looking both ways for traffic before taking Rose’s arm and guiding her across the road. ‘I shall make do with a soft drink but you need something stronger. You can always leave your car where it is.’

The wind was stiffening. Rose shivered and wondered whether she was about to cry. Kindness sometimes did that to her. Turning the corner
she saw the boards advertising all-day opening and bar food. She had eaten there with Jack; the portions were very generous.

They sat in a corner away from the bar because there were customers whom Rose knew and she was not up to making small talk. A tape was playing which meant their conversation could not be overheard. She accepted gratefully the rather large brandy Peter had ordered for her without consultation.

‘Right. What was that all about back there?’

Rose told him, her embarrassment no less acute for having repeated the story several times before.

Peter stroked his chin thoughtfully. ‘Mm. I had heard much the same thing, although not quite as concise an account of it. It puzzled me that you’d want to go back there after what they found. Good heavens, Rose, it couldn’t have been whoever killed that unknown victim, could it? Maybe they didn’t want anyone snooping around the area.’

‘I was hardly snooping.’

‘No. And it was a stupid idea. The last thing they’d do is to draw attention to it. Forget I said it. No one knew she was down there, you couldn’t have done any harm just painting.’ He rubbed his
chin thoughtfully. ‘Then that means there has to be another reason.’

‘That’s not what the police think.’

‘They’re not infallible, Rose. Tell me, what do you think?’

‘I agree with you. Peter, tell me honestly, why were you there?’

‘I have been honest. I heard what you said yesterday at Maddy’s and the way you made a point of letting everyone know where you’d be. After you left I heard a lot more. Two unexplained murders and a middle-aged lady – who, if you don’t mind me saying, looks nowhere near her age – hearing voices and intending to return to a place where she is likely to be in danger. Apart from that, an instinct told me this same lady and Maddy Duke are keeping some great secret. I was concerned for your safety, no more than that. And as far as I know there seems to be no one else to look out for you. I’ve also been informed that you have a knack of landing yourself in trouble. Does that explanation satisfy you?’

‘It’ll have to, but I didn’t know you cared.’ Rose bit her lip. ‘I’m sorry. Forgive me, that was extremely rude.’

‘It’s shock. I wouldn’t have put you down as rude. Outspoken, certainly, and with a excess of
curiosity, but not rude.’ He sipped his grapefruit juice and pulled a face. Sitting with one elbow on the table, his chin in his hand, he studied Rose’s profile.

She was aware of his scrutiny and felt like a girl on her first date. ‘Let me buy you another drink,’ she said decisively, anxious to escape his gaze and what it was doing to her.

‘No. Really. You have one if you like. I’ll wait until I’m home and can have a taste of the real thing.’

‘I’ll leave it in that case. I’m already feeling a bit light-headed.’

‘If you’re not up to walking, I can give you a lift.’

‘Thank you. I’d be very grateful.’ Peter was the right age to have been involved with the girl down the mine and it wouldn’t surprise her if he had known Jenny as more than a friend. It was only an impression, but Rose guessed that Peter Dawson was something of what her father would describe as a ‘ladies’ man’. He certainly had charisma and charm. He might not mix much but she sensed a warm personality behind the outward persona, and she found she was interested in what he had to say.

‘Is it serious between you and Nick?’ he asked as they made their way back to his car.

‘A relationship that doesn’t exist can hardly be described as serious,’ she told him solemnly.

‘Ah.’

‘Ah, what?’

‘Just interested. Rose, please don’t think I’m an interfering old fool, but be careful of Nick.’

‘In what way?’

‘It’s hard to say. I’ve known him a good many years now. He’s talented, extremely so, but he has a touch of the artistic temperament.’

‘People use that as an excuse for bad behaviour.’ They stood at the kerb. A line of cars approached from both directions.

‘Do they? It hadn’t occurred to me. Perhaps I had better look to some of my own bad habits. I don’t mean he’s a threat to you, it’s just that he’s never settled down. I think Jenny was the longest relationship he’s ever had.’

‘You’re not married or living with anyone.’

‘No. But I’m different.’ He laughed when he saw Rose’s cynical grimace. ‘Of course, we all like to think that. But I know I have no staying power. The women I meet, and please don’t take offence, bore me within a very short time. It’s a lack in me, not them, you understand. I enjoy being solitary, I love not having to worry about anything other than my work. I walk or paint or
read or eat Or drink whenever the mood takes me. It would take a very unusual woman to put up with my selfishness. Yes,’ he said, as if it had only just occurred to him, ‘that’s what it is. I won’t allow myself to be changed or to fit in with anyone else’s plans.’

There was a gap in the traffic and they were able to cross the road. Rose guessed he was saying it for her benefit, that he had known his faults for many years.

‘I’m a little like that myself these days.’

‘It must’ve been hard, losing your husband.’

‘There are no words to describe what I felt. You see, we were lucky, our marriage worked. We sort of, I don’t know, fitted each other.’

‘Children?’

‘None, but it didn’t seem to matter. Anyway, since then I’ve pleased myself too.’ She smiled and was rewarded with a conspiratorial grin. ‘I have to admit I have the same problem with men. Not that there’ve been many, but the few I’ve met have tried to pin me down. They’re possessive. David wasn’t like that, we each had our own lives as well as each other.’