The Loner (2 page)

PC Davey nodded, head bent as he wrote. ‘What time did you arrive here?'

Jess repeated everything she had already told him.

‘The door was open?'

‘It was closed but not locked.'

‘This road is a dead end?'

Jess nodded. ‘It stops at the junction with the farm lane. There's a footpath that continues to the marina.'

‘With no passing traffic he wouldn't worry about locking up.'

The PC's remark made sense, yet it didn't fit with the John Preece that Jess knew. But then the truth was she'd never really known him.

PC Davey glanced at his watch. ‘Doctor should be here directly.'

Jess glanced towards the padlocked gate. ‘How will he get in?'

‘More to the point,' the constable followed her gaze, ‘how will they take the body out? I'll see if there's a key.' He went back inside the cottage, leaving the door wide open. Jess guessed he hoped to reduce the smell as well as letting in more light.

He returned a few moments later, holding up a small, plain metal ring from which dangled three keys, one smaller than the other two. She watched him walk down the path. He fiddled with the padlock, then pulled the chain loose and opened the gate. The squealing hinges surprised her, especially as John Preece's tools were clean and cared for.

The doctor came, nodding at Jess as he entered the cottage with the constable. The sergeant arrived followed by the coroner's officer. Jess answered more questions, then waited on the bench. They left as the funeral director's vehicle arrived. Jess glimpsed a black estate car with darkened windows. Two men came up the path, one pushing a folding stretcher. PC Davey took them inside. A few minutes later they reappeared with the body in a zipped bag on the stretcher.

‘Just one more thing, Mrs Trevanion,' PC Davey said as the car drove quietly away. ‘I don't suppose you'd know who Mr Preece's next of kin might be?'

‘Sorry, I don't. He might have been distantly related to old Mrs Chamberlin who used to live here. But that's only hearsay. I was born and brought up here so I knew the Chamberlins. They didn't have any children. After Mr died, Mrs lived here by herself for another ten years. When she passed away the cottage stayed empty for a couple of years until he moved in. But as I say, this is just what I've picked up from talk in the village.'

‘He's never been seen with anyone?'

Jess shook her head. ‘No. And if he had been, word would soon have got round.'

PC Davey closed his notebook. ‘Right, that's it. I'll lock up and take the key back to the local office.'

‘What happens next?'

‘Paperwork. An inquest will be opened and adjourned until after a post-mortem.'

‘How long will that take?'

He shrugged. ‘It depends how busy the pathologist is. Today's Thursday, so it will probably be next week sometime. Do you want a lift home?'

About to accept, Jess thought of the gossip if she was seen getting out of a police car.

‘Thanks, but I'll walk. That's why I came out in the first place.'

‘Better take your plants with you.' He gestured to the bucket.

She was halfway back to the village when her phone rang.

‘Gone off me already? I thought we had a date for a pint and a pasty at the pub. I'm starving here.'

‘Oh, Tom, I'm so sorry. I completely forgot. John Preece is dead. I found him. PC Davey came and I had to give him a statement. I'm on my way home now. He offered me a lift back but –'

‘I'll come and pick you up.'

Concern furrowed his tanned face as she got into the pick-up a few minutes later. ‘That must have been some shock. You OK?'

‘I will be when I've had a cup of tea. Do you mind if we don't go to the pub?'

‘'Course I don't.' He pulled up outside the entrance to her garden. ‘You go on in and put the kettle on. I'll put the pick-up in the pub car park. Won't be long.'

When he came back she was gazing blindly into the open fridge.

‘Looking for something?'

‘Oh, yes.' Jess pulled herself together and took out a bowl covered with clingfilm. She poured the chunky leek and potato soup into a saucepan and put it on the hob, struggling against unexpected tears. ‘I don't know why I'm so upset. I hardly knew him.'

‘I don't know anyone who did, except by sight.' He put his arms around her, drew her close. ‘Bit too close to home is it, bird?'

Nodding against his shoulder, Jess wiped her eyes, then leaned back to look up at him. ‘How do you do that?'

‘Do what?'

‘Know what I'm thinking.'

He shrugged. ‘'Tidn rocket science. You're still dealing with the mess Alex left. Finding a body was bound to press a few buttons.'

‘The smell was awful.' Jess shuddered.

‘That's nature,' Tom said. ‘Everything lets go.'

‘He'd have hated anyone seeing him like that.'

‘Don't fret over it, bird. He's past caring.' He kissed her cheek then released her to lift bowls and plates from the dresser. ‘Remember old Frank Carne, do you? He had that great greenhouse along the lane by the stream. He was another one lived for his garden. His fruit and flowers won prizes at every show. But his house – I'd say he lived like a pig, but that wouldn't be fair to pigs. If you went into Frank's place you wiped your feet on the way out.'

‘Tom! That's awful.'

‘Was, too. Poor old Frank. He just couldn't get it together. He needed looking after.'

‘Oh did he? What would the lucky woman get out of it?'

‘A challenge? Maybe a few flowers, though I doubt it. Awful tight he was. He wouldn't give you a cold. What was Preece's place like?'

Tom's diversion had helped restore her balance. ‘Small. It looked like one up, one down, with a scullery on the back. I only saw the downstairs room. Everything looked worn and shabby. Maybe it was there when he moved in, or he furnished it from a charity shop. But it was tidy, none of the usual clutter you'd expect with a man living alone.'

‘Hey!'

She raised her brows at him. ‘Your kitchen dresser?'

He grinned. ‘It may look like a pile to you, but I know where everything is. Go on.'

‘The cottage had a big fireplace with an iron hook on a swivel. I think there was a cloam oven at one side. There was a log basket and fire irons. He had shelves of books, an armchair with an old tartan blanket thrown over it, a wooden chair tucked under an old-fashioned oak table, and a dresser.'

‘No TV?'

‘I didn't see one. There was a wind-up radio on one of the shelves.' Jess gave the soup a quick stir, then split and buttered rolls and filled them with slices of cheddar, tomato, and chutney. Taking tablemats and spoons from the dresser drawers, Tom paused by the table.

‘What shall I do with this?' He indicated her laptop, notepad, and printed sheets.

‘Just push it out of the way.'

‘What are you working on?'

‘Research for Simon Opie who reopened the teashop opposite White's the chemist in town.' Seated at the table, Jess swallowed her second mouthful of steaming soup and felt the knots in her stomach begin to loosen.

‘How are you getting on?' Tom bit into a filled roll. ‘I wouldn't have expected the heir to the Chenhall estate to be running a café.'

‘Could be he needs an income. Getting out of the rat race is all very well, but you still have to live. In any case, the estate is only a fraction of what it used to be thanks to inheritance tax. How did you meet him?'

‘He came to the yard. He bought an old Falmouth working boat and wants to race it in the summer regattas. But it needs re-rigging first. We got talking like you do, and he said he'd found some posters and a board with
Marigold's
painted on it and he'd asked you to find out who she was.'

‘I've never researched a property before. But it's not that different from tracing a family tree. You start with what you know and work back. The property has always been part of the Chenhall estate.'

‘Has that made it easier?'

‘Yes and no.'

‘Right.'

Jess shot him a look. ‘Though ownership didn't change, the tenants did. I've been able to trace what the property was used for through trade directories and newspaper archives.'

She pulled forward a sheet of paper. ‘From 2012 back to 1992 it was a vegetarian café called Beanz. From 1990 back to 1980 it was a burger bar until its licence to trade was withdrawn due to late night noise, litter, and environmental health problems. Before that it was a coffee bar decorated like an American diner and opened in 1956.'

‘How d'you know that?'

‘There was an article in the local paper with a detailed description. Booths with red imitation leather benches on each side of a table, chrome stools with red padded tops, a chrome foot rail in front of a long counter, and a jukebox.' Jess spooned up the last of her soup.

‘Now it starts to get interesting. In 1951 a Marigold Mitchell was living in the property with her widowed mother, Sarah. I checked the BMD indexes –'

‘Births, Marriages and Deaths? See,' he tapped his temple. ‘I do listen.'

‘I never doubted it. Anyway, I found a Sarah Mitchell of that address had died in 1952 aged 75. So I went back up to fifty-five years and looked in the Births Index for Marigold Mitchell. It's not a common name so I knew there was a good chance I'd find her, and I did. She was born in 1900 to Sarah and Frederick Mitchell who lived at 3 Coke's Backlet, an alley off Church Street. In the 1911 census, Sarah, Marigold, and Elizabeth Mitchell – Frederick's widowed mother – were still at that address. Sarah's occupation was dressmaker, but there was no entry for Frederick. So I went back to Deaths again, and discovered that he was killed in an accident at the docks when he fell from a painting cradle. What?'

He stroked her cheek gently with his index finger. ‘You. Amaze me you do. You've found all that already. I wouldn't know where to start.'

‘And I couldn't rig a boat.' Jess shrugged. ‘I surprise myself sometimes. If I hadn't decided to trace my mother's family, I wouldn't be doing this now. I love it, and I learn something new every day.' She picked up the empty bowls. ‘Coffee? Tea?'

He groaned and pushed himself up from the table. ‘I wish I could. But with two boats to get onto their moorings I need to catch the tide. Doug's working flat out, so while he has his dinner Chris has to deal with enquiries. He's doing a good job and coming on a treat, but –'

‘He needs you there.' She put down the dishes and hugged him. ‘Thanks, Tom.'

‘What for?'

‘Coming to pick me up. Staying.'

‘The soup was 'andsome. And seeing you have set me up for the rest of the day. Feeling better now?'

‘Much. Go on. I'll see you soon.'

‘That you will.' Tilting her chin he kissed her, then kissed her again with lingering warmth.

She slid free, laughing. ‘On your way, Peters.'

‘You're some hard woman.'

After doing the dishes and replenishing the fire she made herself a cup of tea, sat at the table, and drew her laptop forward. But her thoughts returned to the events of the morning. John Preece had been wearing pyjamas. That meant he had been about to go to bed, or he had just got up. The fact that his skin was so cold suggested the accident had happened last night.

Why had the front door not been locked?

She shook her head. There could be any number of reasons. He might have forgotten to refill his log basket and gone out to do that. He might have opened the door to throw out crumbs for the birds. Or he might simply have forgotten. Sometimes the simple answer was the right one.

At two on Friday Jess had just sat down to resume work when there was a knock on the door.

‘Hello, Mor. No work today?'

‘I finished half past twelve. I won't keep you more 'n a minute,' Morwenna promised. ‘I'm going down to see Percy and wanted to catch you now in case you was going out later.'

‘Come in.' Jess returned to the kitchen area. ‘Cup of tea?'

‘No, I won't stop. If you just have a look and tell me if this letter is all right, I'll leave you be.' She thrust the envelope at Jess.

‘You know I will, but why me?'

‘If it wasn't for you finding my father and all, I wouldn't even know I had a half-sister. I've never had no call to write letters. After Granny and Grampy died there was only Mother and me. The only people I know are at work, in the choir, or here in the village. Five times I've wrote it. I tore up two pads of writing paper. But it got to be right. I don't want her thinking I'm after anything.'

‘What
do
you want, Mor?' Jess asked gently.

Tucking a stray lock of frizzy greying hair behind her ear, Morwenna shrugged. ‘Just … to find out if she might like to know me.' Her shower-proof coat hung open revealing a navy cardigan buttoned over a cream blouse. ‘Just thinking about it make my heart bang like the big drum on Flora Day. I know I'm being daft. I mean, 'tisn't like I'll be any worse off if she say no.'

‘You're allowed to be nervous.' Jess unfolded the letter. ‘It's not every day you discover relations you didn't know you had. Have you shown Ben?' She read it through, then read it again.

Morwenna nodded. ‘He said it was a lovely job, dear of 'n. You don't think he was just saying that?'

‘No, I don't. He's right, Mor.' Jess refolded the sheet and slotted it carefully back into the envelope. ‘I couldn't have worded it any better.'

Morwenna's downy face blushed dark rose. ‘Well! Made my day you have. I'll drop it in the box on my way past.' She went to the door.

‘Have you and Ben set a date?'

‘We was thinking early September. Weather is lovely then. I know it seem a bit soon, what with Mother not long gone –'