A Cornish Revenge (The Loveday Ross Cornish Mysteries Book 1) (3 page)

  Will Tregellis nodded towards a lifeboat and two larger fishing vessels that were waiting just offshore ready to offer what help they could. ‘The RNLI’s inshore boat,’ he said. ‘It’s just about the only vessel that could get into that cove. They’re waiting to recover the body and bring the others ashore.’

  ‘Where will they land?’ Sam asked.

  ‘There’s a beach of sorts just along the coast. We have vehicles waiting there.’

  Sam was noting the speed of the waves. ‘How long have they got down there?’

  ‘We think about fifteen minutes…ten to be on the safe side, before the tide -.’

  ‘I don’t think we should hang about for another ten minutes. Let’s get these people out of there now,’ Sam said.

  ‘But what if they haven’t finished?’

  Sam’s eyebrows descended into a frown. ‘Now, Will,’ he growled.

  Lawrence had joined Loveday, watching the latest arrivals. The woman, in a well-cut dark suit and green wellies, was a good six inches shorter than her male companion. She’d made an attempt to tame her mass of crinkly auburn hair by securing it with a butterfly clip at the back of her head, but the wind was tearing at it, giving her a dishevelled appearance.

The man had a definite air of authority, despite the casual tweed jacket and dark, open necked shirt. He’d glanced briefly in their direction as he passed but showed no inclination to speak to them. Loveday studied him, guessing he was in his mid to late thirties, at least six feet tall, with strong wide shoulders. His dark hair was brushed back, revealing a high forehead. Even from this distance she could tell his eyes were dark. Not bad looking, she thought, if you liked that serious, rugged type.

He suddenly glanced up and met her eyes. Had that been the trace of a smile? She didn’t wait to find out, turning away, embarrassed at having been caught staring at him. It was the woman officer who came over. The other young detective was still having his ear bent by the Vincents.

   ‘DC Fox.’ She introduced herself. It was a West Country accent, but not Cornish. She fixed Lawrence with a look. ‘And you are -?’

  Lawrence gave his details and described how they found the body. DC Fox jotted the information into her notebook and turned to face Loveday. ‘And you -?’ she asked.

  The woman’s apparent inability to finish a sentence was beginning to irritate Loveday. She smiled at the unreceptive face. ‘I’m Loveday Ross,’ she said. ‘…A journalist.’ The information had the desired effect and Loveday had to stifle a victorious grin as she watched the woman's bored expression change to one of suspicion.

  DC Fox looked up from her scribbling. Loveday had her full attention now. ‘Can I ask why you’re here, Miss Ross?’

  Already feeling guilty at her blatant attempt to antagonise the woman, Loveday smiled. ‘Don’t worry. It’s not a newspaper. I work for a local magazine –
Cornish Folk
.’ She had allowed her voice to rise questioningly at the end of the sentence, but the woman gave no indication she had ever heard of the magazine, which was strange considering it was in every newsagents’ shop in the county.

  ‘Stop hiding your light under a bushel, Loveday,’ Lawrence cut in. ‘Loveday’s the editor of
Cornish Folk
.’

  Loveday frowned at Lawrence’s well-meaning attempt to establish her professional status. ‘Assistant editor, actually’ she corrected. ‘And I’m here today because we will be running a feature about Lawrence’s art school in the next issue.’

  DC Fox clipped the cap back on her pen and Loveday thought she had glimpsed the trace of a smirk. ‘You might have to postpone that,’ the detective said.

Loveday watched Amanda Fox retreat in search of the Vincents who had been standing apart, totally engrossed in the activities around them. Until now, she hadn’t given a thought to the problems this would cause at the magazine when they no longer had Lawrence’s vital article to fill those two empty pages. But as soon as the realisation dawned, Loveday chastised herself. How could she be so callous? What did a magazine article matter when a man lay dead only a hundred feet below? He’d have a family somewhere…parents…a wife…perhaps children. Nobody deserved to be staked out like a trapped animal waiting to die. The thought made her shiver.

  Sam had been keeping an eye on his DC’s progress with the witnesses. He liked to stand back like this, watch people’s body language. It often told more about a witness than what they actually said. And the body language he had witnessed between the two women just now had been interesting. Amanda had riled the other one. He’d seen the same thing so many times before. The young detective’s abrasive attitude put people’s backs up. Despite the macabre scene below, he had to smile. He could tell by the way Amanda’s back straightened, her shoulders stiffened, and her chin came up, that she had met her match.

  He turned to Will. ‘Just these four witnesses?’

  ‘No,’ Will said. ‘There’s another couple of women over there.’ He flicked a thumb in the direction of the car park. ‘One of them felt queasy so they asked if they could stay in their car.’ He looked up to catch the attention of one of the uniformed officers. ‘I’ll get them down here now, boss.’

  Sam shook his head. ‘Don’t bother. I take it you’ve got their statements?’

  ‘We have. They’re visitors, staying along the road at the pub in Polmarth. They’ve been asked to hang on another day or so just in case we need to speak to them again. The couple over there…’ he nodded towards the Vincents, now deep in conversation with DC Fox. ‘They’re visitors as well…staying in the same place as the women.’

  ‘And the other two?’

  ‘Both local. The man’s an artist, Lawrence Kemp. Runs some kind of an art school. The others are his students – oh, all except her.’ he nodded towards Loveday. ‘She’s a journalist.’

  Sam’s brows knitted together. ‘That’s all we needed. What’s she doing here?’

  Will shrugged. ‘Some kind of magazine article, I think. It was DC Rowe who spoke to her.’

  Below them the lifeboat had moved in to recover the body. Sam knew Dr Bartholomew would accompany it ashore. The crew had already collected the Scene of Crime Officers and transferred the group to one of the fishing boats, which was now on its way to deposit them at St Ives harbour.

  ‘I want a word with the pathologist,’ Sam said. ‘How do I get to the landing site?’

  Will gave directions and Sam called over this shoulder as he left. ‘Make sure none of the witnesses discuss this with anybody – especially the journalist. What was her name?’

CHAPTER TWO

  A steady drizzle was falling by the time Loveday got back to her cottage in Marazion, The bleakness matched her mood. The morning’s events had upset her more than she’d realised. Dumping her bag on the kitchen table she turned to fill the kettle, but thought better of it and reached into the fridge for the half full bottle of Chardonnay, and poured herself a large glass.

Taking it through to her tiny sitting room, she stood by the window, looking out. Through the haze of rain she could just make out the towering mass of St Michael’s Mount. She’d noticed while driving along the Penzance seafront that the tide was high. From here she had no view of the causeway linking the Mount to the mainland, but she knew that it would be well under water. She frowned. The police would have recovered the poor man’s body by now.

Her mobile rang. It was Kit Armitage. For a moment she was surprised, then she remembered giving the women her business card.

  ‘Loveday? Look, I’m sorry to bother you, but you did say I could call if there was something…Well, the thing is…I don’t suppose you could come over?’

  ‘To Polmarth?’

  Loveday could hear another voice in the background. Abbie was giving instructions again.

  ‘There’s a pub near here called the Miner’s Lamp. Abbie’s heard the food is quite good.’ She hesitated. ‘I don’t suppose you would fancy joining us there for a meal?’

  ‘Well…er, yes…why not,’ Loveday said.

  ‘About six then?’

  ‘Fine by me.’ Loveday was thoughtful as she clicked off the connection. She hadn’t been expecting that, and wasn’t even sure she wanted to meet up with the women again, but she’d agreed to it now.

  Kit and Abbie had found one of the long tables by the crackling log fire, and they were deep in conversation when Loveday walked in. They didn’t notice her at first, and for a moment she stood watching them. Something about their demeanour suggested a disagreement. The last thing she wanted was to walk in on a row. But the smile Abbie flashed, when she looked up and spotted her, made her doubt that first impression.

  ‘We got the best seats in the house,’ she called, waving Loveday over.

  ‘So you have,’ she grinned, throwing her bag down on the bench.

Kit still had that haunted look, and Loveday’s heart went out to her. The poor woman was obviously not coping well with the loss of her sister.

Loveday had already decided not to talk about the day’s events, guessing Kit needed to distance herself from them…they all did. But Abbie had other ideas.

  ‘Shame about your little article,’ she said, as Loveday slid in beside them, giving Abbie a surprised look.

  ‘Well, you can hardly write about it now, can you?’

  Loveday tried not to frown. ‘The article has only been postponed. It
will
be used eventually,’ she said struggling to keep the stiffness from her voice.

  ‘Without any mention of the body on the beach, I hope?’ Abbie persisted.

  ‘Well of course I won’t be mentioning that.
Cornish Folk
is not that kind of magazine.’ Loveday looked from one to the other. Was the woman seriously trying to provoke her? Or was it her imagination that they both appeared to visibly relax when she said that?

   Into the awkward silence, Kit cleared her throat, and said, ‘I made such a fuss today. I feel so embarrassed about it now. I mean…fainting. I’ve never done that before.’

She attempted a weak smile. 

  ‘Can’t be easy getting over a shock like that…not on top of everything else,’ Loveday said quietly.

  ‘That’s really why we asked you to join us,’ Abbie cut in. ‘Thanks by the way for coming. You were so kind back there. We just wanted to thank you properly. So the meal is on us.’

  ‘It’s very generous, but you really don’t have to - ’

But Abbie was holding up a hand. ‘We insist.’

  Menus were produced and they made their choices. Abbie asked for the wine list and ran her eye down it.

‘Hmm, I’m impressed,’ she said, ordering a South African Sauvignon Blanc.

It was icy cold and delicious, and Loveday made a mental note to look for it next time she was in the supermarket. She said. ‘I suppose you two will be heading back to London now?’

  Abbie swirled the wine her glass. ‘Actually, no. The police…’ She paused, a glint of mischief in her eyes. ‘The big, handsome one wants us to hang around for a few days.’ She glanced across at Kit. ‘…And that’s fine by us. Cornwall without the tourists…what could be better?’

Loveday felt her shoulders stiffened. She knew exactly who Abbie meant, and for some reason her reference to the senior detective annoyed her. She forced a smile as she changed the subject. ‘I take it you know this area?’

  Abbie shook her head. ‘Well no, actually…not at all. Kit and I just appreciate how lovely and quiet it is here at the moment. Besides,’ She lifted her glass and took another sip. ‘Lawrence has been absolutely wonderful. He’s arranged to take the Vincents and us to St Ives tomorrow to paint down at the harbour. I think it’s his way of trying to cheer us all up.’

  ‘He’s a nice man,’ Loveday murmured. ‘I’m sure you’ll all have a wonderful time.’

‘Will you be there?’ Kit asked, a hopeful look in her eye.

  Loveday shook her head. ‘Sorry, I can’t manage that. But I do still want to interview everyone for my article. Maybe in a few days we could meet up for a chat?’ She saw the look that passed between the women, and to dispel any thoughts that she might still question them about finding the body, quickly added, ‘You know the sort thing, how you enjoyed the painting experience, what you got out of it.’

  ‘A lot more than we expected,’ Kit said gloomily.

  ‘Yes, it’s really spoiled things for you,’ she sympathised.

  ‘They were spoiled before this morning,’ Kit said flatly.

    The woman looked so despondent that Loveday wanted to go round the table and hug her. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to rake all this up again.’

  Kit smiled. ‘It’s not your fault, Loveday.’  Glancing at Abbie she added. ‘And we would love to help with your article.’

  Their food arrived and as the mouth-watering aromas reached Loveday she realised she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Conversation was suspended as they tucked in to their supper. Abbie and Loveday ate heartily, but Kit merely moved her food around the plate.

‘Not very hungry,’ she said apologetically, when she caught Loveday’s concerned glance.

Judging by the woman’s painfully thin appearance, Loveday wondered exactly what she did eat.

‘What are you planning to do while you’re here?’ she asked.

Abbie lifted the wine bottle and replenished Loveday’s glass. Kit hadn’t appeared to have even touched her drink. ‘We haven’t decided yet,’ she said. ‘Perhaps you could recommend something?’

  Loveday laughed. ‘Well just about everywhere in Cornwall is worth a visit, especially if you’re staying on for a bit longer.’

  Kit was looking miserable again.

  But Abbie appeared in high spirits. ‘We have a holiday to enjoy and we’re determined to do that.’ She looked across at her friend. ‘Aren’t we, Kit?’

  The woman forced a bright smile. ‘Of course we are.’

Loveday bit back her annoyance. Why couldn’t Abbie see just how miserable her friend was? If she actually
was
a friend, that is. It wasn’t how Loveday treated her friends. Kit so obviously just wanted to go home and nurse her grief…and who was to say that she shouldn’t?

  But she squared her shoulders and told them about the spectacular Minnack Theatre, the current exhibitions at the Tate in St Ives, and listed her favourite historic houses. ‘How long have you got?’ she added, laughing. ‘Because those are only a few of the places you could visit. You must take a trip up the River Fal. It’s absolutely beautiful – even at this time of year.’

  ‘I love boats,’ Abbie’s eyes sparkled with what Loveday felt was the first real interest she’d seen in either of the women.

  ‘So you’re a sailor?’ Loveday asked.

  ‘Heavens, no. I’ve never set foot on a boat in my life,’ she said quickly. ‘But I love looking at them…all those yachts at anchor…I could sit for hours just watching them come and go, imagining what exotic places they’d visited…and where they were sailing off to next.’

The look on Kit’s face suggested she did not share her friend’s enthusiasm.

There was a sadness about the woman that Loveday felt sure went even deeper than the recent loss of her sister. But then, if they had been really close…

The pub was filling up. People standing around the bar, glasses in their hands, were glancing around the tables for signs of anyone preparing to leave. Abbie didn’t look as if she had any intention of moving on any time soon. She was signaling for the menu to be brought back.

Loveday smiled, reaching for her bag.

‘You’re not going?’ Kit said, ‘You haven’t had a sweet, yet.’

Loveday put on an apologetic face. ‘I’m afraid I must. There’s a whole heap of work waiting for me back at my cottage, and it won’t do itself.’ She stood up smiling and extended a hand to each woman in turn. ‘Thank you for the lovely supper. I've really enjoyed our chat.’

  ‘Perhaps we can do it again before we go home?’ Abbie suggested.

  ‘Why not? But you must come to the cottage next time. I’ll cook for you,’ Loveday offered, and immediately regretted the rash invitation.

‘Have you heard any more from the police, by the way?’ Abbie asked as Loveday turned to go.

She swung round, surprised. ‘Well, no, but then I wouldn’t expect to.’

  ‘I thought the police had to keep the press informed of developments in a case like this.’

  Loveday frowned. ‘I would hardly describe
Cornish Folk
as ‘the press’. As I said before, the magazine doesn’t cover news stories.’

  ‘But you must be privy to what’s going on,’ Abbie persisted ‘…I mean, you’ll have colleagues on newspapers who would be in the know.’ She smiled teasingly at Loveday. ‘Now don’t tell me you don’t talk to each other?’

‘For heavens sake, Abbie, stop interrogating her,’ Kit snapped, turning to Loveday. ‘I apologise for my friend. Abbie gets carried away sometimes.’

  There was an awkward silence before Abbie said, ‘Kit’s right. I’m sorry. It’s just that we can’t stop thinking about that poor man.’

  Loveday had been doing her best to avoid thinking about the horrors of that morning.

  ‘The police really haven’t been back in touch with me. If I knew any more about what was going on I would tell you.’

  But as she started her car outside the pub, she wondered if that was true.

It was properly dark when she drove back into Marazion. The last thing she expected was to meet another vehicle emerging from her driveway. She braked hard as the driver of the old silver Lexus lowered his window and indicated for Loveday to do the same.

  ‘
This is a bit of luck,’ said Detective Inspector Sam Kitto. ‘I wanted a word with you, but your neighbour…Mrs Trevellick?…told me you’d gone out for the evening.’

It was the first time she’d heard his voice and the rich Cornish burr sparked a strange fluttering in her chest. His eyes were just as dark as she had initially thought – a deep, melting brown. And right at that moment they were fixed intently on hers.

She opened her mouth to speak, but Sam was there first. ‘Look, I’ll turn further along the seafront and come back. Can we have a chat?’

The last thing she wanted was to go over the day’s events again. But maybe telling them to those deep brown eyes might not be so bad.

  She lifted her chin. Whatever odd things were happening to her insides, she had no intention of letting him know about it. ‘Well you seem to have tracked me down, Inspector,’ she said coolly. ‘ Although, isn’t this a bit late in the evening for interviews?’

  ‘This isn’t an interview, Miss Ross, it’s just a chat. I won’t keep you any longer than necessary...I promise.’ He was studying her, and she was glad it was dark for annoyingly, her cheeks suddenly felt hot.

‘Would you like a drink?’ she asked, turning to the fridge after he followed her through the back door and into the kitchen.

  He eyed the wine bottle she was opening and reluctantly shook his head. ‘I expect you’ll have been going over in your mind what happened this morning.’

  ‘I’ve been trying
not
to think about it,’ Loveday said.

  Sam nodded. ‘Understandable. But sometimes things come back – little things that maybe you didn’t consider worth mentioning first time.’ He raised his shoulders in a questioning shrug. ‘...Something you might not even have thought of before.’

  ‘I’ve already told your officers everything I can remember.’

‘What about when you first arrived on the clifftop, Miss Ross, before the others came. Did you see anyone else…someone out walking maybe?’

  Loveday wished he would stop calling her Miss Ross. She tried to think, but there had been no one else at Borlase that morning…or if there was then she hadn’t seen them.