Betrayed in Cornwall (11 page)

‘In the shop. A customer wanted a gift made. One of my necklaces – you know the ones I make from wood?’

Rose did. Maddy was capable of carving the most intricate designs on tiny blocks then stringing them on thongs. It was not the sort of jewellery which appealed to Rose, she liked more feminine pieces, but they sold well, especially to younger customers and what Rose called the Earth Mother type. And Etta Chynoweth fell into the latter category. How strange that her life had evolved in such a way that she had had to live up to her name. Etta had once explained that it was of German origin and meant ruler of the home. ‘Yes. Go on.’

‘Well, this tall, good-looking guy came in and had a look around. I thought at first that he hadn’t got a clue what he wanted so I asked if I could help. It was then he said he’d like one of the necklaces but instead of me carving the name on the blocks he wanted the actual letters carved out of the wood.

‘I said I could do it. The name he wanted was Etta. He offered to pay in advance. Later I suspected that he’d waited
until the shop was empty before asking, and that’s why he’d been so busy looking around.’

‘Did he collect it?’

‘Yes, about three or four weeks ago.’

Around the time of Etta’s birthday, Rose thought. For a man of his supposed wealth it was not an extravagant gift, but it was personal and he would have known Etta could not have explained away gold or diamonds. It had to be the same man. ‘Can you remember his name?’

‘Oh, yes, that’s easy, because here’s another coincidence. About an hour ago I heard on the local radio that his place has been burgled.’

At that point Rose had sat down on the arm of a chair. Coincidence? She did not think so. Maddy was still speaking: she made herself listen.

‘He and his wife had been on holiday and they weren’t expected back until next week. From what little the news said I gather he’s rolling in money. Art works of all descriptions went missing. No sum was announced but they said the value was probably somewhere in the region of seven figures if the collections remained intact.’

Seven figures? Did Etta have any idea just how rich the man was?

‘What’s he called?’

‘Sorry. Didn’t I say? Roger Hammond.’

Roger Hammond. The name meant nothing to Rose. ‘Thanks, Maddy. Can I let you know another time about getting together? I really would like to meet Julie.’

‘Of course. I can’t wait to see her, Rose. I’m so excited. I mean, first the letter, then she followed it up with a telephone call and we made the arrangements. It’s as if she can’t wait either. I didn’t expect her to come down for several weeks. I just hope I’m not a great disappointment.’ In her excitement the tragedy in the Chynoweth household took second place.

‘You won’t be, Maddy. You couldn’t possibly be. Take care, I’ll speak to you soon …’

Arthur and Evelyn sat quietly while Rose related all this to Jack even though they had heard it once already.

‘What do you think, Jack? Is there any way you can speak to him discreetly?’

His head was buzzing and he was thankful he had not taken the tablets or he’d have probably passed out on Rose’s kitchen floor. ‘You know I can’t promise you that. But the local police will have checked that he really was on holiday, that this wasn’t some sort of insurance scam. And if so, then he can’t have had anything to do with Joe’s death either.’

‘Why not? If Roger Hammond was not the man Sarah saw with Mark, maybe it was someone else he hired to do the job, ensuring he was safely out of the country when it happened.’

‘You do like to dramatise, Rose. Look, if you want someone dead, if you hire a hit man, you don’t get him to push the intended victim over a not very high cliff on the off-chance he’ll break his neck. If this Hammond has as much money as you say, he could afford to get the best where there’d be no mistakes. And, as you pointed out, where does the heroin come in?’

‘I suppose you’re right.’ She looked away, disappointed. Her earlier animation in believing she’d got it all worked out had evaporated. But Jack could always manage to deflate her. ‘What do you think, then?’

‘I think it really is time you stopped meddling and let us get on with our work without wasting valuable manpower on looking for you.’

Rose bit hard on her lower lip. She was trying not to lose her temper in front of her parents. ‘Well, thank you, Jack. I really thought what I’ve told you would be helpful. I’m sorry if I was wrong. I won’t make the same mistake again.’ She knew she sounded more petulant than angry.

Arthur glanced at his wife and raised his eyebrows. If these two carried on like this in front of people, what on earth must they be like when they were on their own? No wonder the relationship had come to an end.

Jack bowed his head and shook it in despair. All he had wanted was for Rose to be safe. He had gone to look for her, got injured for his efforts and his reward was this. He sighed
in resignation and wished he had ignored her message. There were times when he wished he’d never met her at all.

When he looked up Rose realised how ill he was. His mouth was pinched, his face grey with pain and there were more than the usual amount of lines fanning out around his eyes. She knew then that his anger with her was akin to that of a mother who smacked a child who had run into the road but who had avoided being hit by a car. He was relieved that she was safe but he did not know how to tell her so. ‘Jack, shall I order you a taxi? It’s eleven thirty and you really do look dreadful.’ She did not want to be alone with him in his vulnerable state, she might end up doing or saying something she would later regret.

He smiled ruefully. ‘Thank you for that, and yes, please do. All I want is bed.’ His leg had stiffened. Out of nowhere he heard his mother’s voice: ‘It’ll get worse before it gets better.’ He hoped this was one instance where she was wrong.

A taxi from Stone’s, the local Newlyn firm, arrived within minutes. The driver, used to collecting Rose, tooted and sat with the engine idling down on the main road. Rose took Jack’s arm and helped him down the drive. He grunted with pain.

‘There has to be a drugs connection.’

‘Oh?’ Rose steadied him as best she could. He weighed almost twice as much as she did.

‘That damn trawler.’

‘Trawler?’

But Jack refused to elucidate. He had said too much already, that was the whisky talking. It was time he learned to keep his mouth shut when Rose was around.

Arriving home for the second time that night he did not even pause to put on lights. Grateful he had no stairs to negotiate, he limped into the bedroom, pulled off his clothes and flung his ruined trousers over the back of a chair. Lying awkwardly in bed, he pulled the duvet up and closed his eyes. He could sleep as long as he wanted, he was not expected to go into work in the morning.

His dreams had a nightmare quality, but not disturbing
enough to wake him. Throughout them ran the same theme, one which his subconscious dictated he take note of it was partly to do with Douggie and partly to do with Sarah.

When he woke it was daylight but far later than he had imagined because there was no sunlight streaming into the room to indicate it was already after nine. There was only the steady hiss of rain pounding the pavement. It seemed fitting that the day should start as gloomily as his waking thoughts.

Flinging back the duvet he tried to stand, cursing at the pain. He reached for his stick and hobbled to the kitchen to make some strong coffee. While the kettle boiled he swallowed two of the painkillers and prayed they would work quickly.

Later he would ring in and see what Mark Hurte had had to say for himself. If he had been that eager to talk the mystery surrounding Joe’s death might be explained and they would know what the trawler was up to. Jack still found Douggie’s involvement disturbing. He wondered if the man had been meant to overhear the conversation and then relate it to the police to create a diversion. Yet an arrest had been made. Were they meant to have arrested Mark whilst something else was taking place? Surely not. The chances of Mark being found had been thin. Douggie was many things, but he was not a liar.

There was, he realised, a more logical explanation. Perhaps, like himself, Douggie had partaken of more whisky than was good for him and had simply got it wrong. And then he recalled his dreams and all that Rose had told him and he knew what had been bothering him. Rose had said that Sarah knew about her mother’s affair, in which case she might also have known that Hammond would be away. Now that was a very interesting point.

Maybe by the end of the day he would know the whole story.

Radio Cornwall played quietly all day in the kitchen. From the time Etta was aware that Sarah might be in danger she had listened to every local news bulletin. What she most dreaded hearing was that the body of a teenage girl had been found. There had been such media announcements before; no name would be given out until the relatives had been informed. She had always shuddered, but how different it felt to be one of those waiting relatives. When she did hear some news which concerned her Etta was astounded, although it was nothing to do with Sarah. Roger Hammond and his wife had returned from a holiday a week sooner than anticipated, the broadcaster announced, to discover that their house had been burgled in their absence. Etta wondered whether the early return had any relevance to herself, if the time Roger had spent with his wife, Melanie, had been so unbearable that they’d decided to cut short their holiday and put an end to the marriage. She had no idea how she would feel if that was the case.

She was still thinking about this possibility half an hour later when the telephone rang. Although it was rare for Roger to contact her by phone, Etta assumed it would be him, ringing for one of four reasons: to inform her of the burglary, to offer his condolences if he had heard about Joe, to say he was leaving Melanie or to call off their affair. It was not Roger.

‘Mrs Chynoweth, we’ve found your daughter,’ were the words she heard and had longed to hear for the past twenty-four hours. ‘It’s all right, she’s perfectly well and unharmed.’ The officer whose task it was to impart the good news had heard her gasp of pleasure and mistaken it for anxiety.

‘Oh, thank you. Thank you. Where is she? Can I see her? When can she come home?’ Etta’s words tumbled out. She nodded as she listened. Sarah was being examined by a police surgeon, a precautionary measure only. Someone would bring
her home immediately afterwards, but they needed to ask her some questions.

Etta felt light-headed and happier than she had been for days. She related the news to her parents and asked them if they would mind passing it on to her in-laws at their guest house whilst she went upstairs to wash her face and change. She wanted to look her best, and from now on Sarah would have a proper mother. For the first time in three days Etta applied some mascara and lipstick then waited for her daughter to come home.

She watched from the lounge window, waiting for the first glimpse of the car bringing Sarah back to her. It was still light but the air had a strange quality which Etta put down to her own emotions. A seagull squawked noisily on the roof of the house below as it walked sideways along its apex. As if it knew it was being observed it turned its head towards her, made a low, guttural sound, then flew off.

Everything seemed clearer and sharper now that she knew Sarah was safe. The glass in the window sparkled, the scent of the freesias in their vase on the table was stronger and her own body felt more alive, as if her circulation had speeded up. Cabbage white butterflies, their wings translucent, hovered over the nasturtiums which trailed over the edges of the raised borders. These would have emerged from their chrysalises in May, a second batch would hatch in August. These facts she had learned from her father who, as a young man and in the days when it was fashionable, had collected butterflies. He had also told her that the French used to put eggshells in the garden, upon which the female would lay her eggs but upon which the young would starve. Was it true, or one of the stories with which he had entertained her? Tears filled her eyes. She brushed them away. It was ridiculous to feel nostalgic when the man she was thinking about was under her roof. In her expectant state Etta did not notice the dark clouds gathering on the horizon which promised rain.

It was another twenty minutes before one of the few cars using the road pulled up and stopped outside the gate at the
side of the house. A car door slammed, then a second. Etta flung open the front door and ran out to meet her daughter.

Sarah stepped stiffly out of the back of the police car and fell into her mother’s arms. ‘I’m so sorry, Mum,’ she sobbed. ‘I’m so very sorry.’

Etta stroked her tangled hair. ‘It’s all right, love. It’s all over now. You’re home, that’s the only thing that matters.’

The WPC and the detective sergeant who had accompanied her watched from a distance, allowing a few minutes for the tearful reunion. Etta seemed not to have noticed them. Releasing Sarah from her embrace, she took her hand and squeezed it. ‘We’d better go inside,’ she said, finally looking up and addressing the officers as she led the way past the clumps of thrift which spilled out onto the path. They ducked beneath the evergreen tamarisk tree with its feathery foliage. Ed had planted it as much for its resistance to salt winds as for its delicate flowers.

‘We’ll wait in the lounge,’ her mother said a little tearfully after she had embraced Sarah and as Etta busied herself making tea, using those few minutes to say a silent thank you and gather her wits. ‘Sarah won’t want all of us listening to what she has to say.’

‘Thanks, Mum. I’ll bring your drinks in.’

Introductions were made. Etta was surprised at the informality. The WPC said her name was Jeanette and the detective sergeant said to call him Bob. He then explained that Sarah would have to make a proper statement in the morning, for now she was only required to answer a few straightforward questions.

She seemed bewildered. ‘Can Mum stay?’ It had already been explained to her that, at seventeen, she did not need the presence of a legal guardian when they questioned her. Jeanette indicated her agreement. ‘I don’t know where to start.’

‘How about from the time Mark telephoned?’ her mother suggested gently.

Sarah nodded and pushed back her hair with a thin hand. ‘He asked me to go out with him on Sunday. I’d been seeing
him for a couple of months, but not that often.’ She risked a glance at Etta who smiled in encouragement and to show she was not angry.

‘I met him as arranged and we drove to Zennor. I didn’t know he’d got a car. We walked and talked – well, I did most of the talking. Mark seemed edgy. He doesn’t usually like walking, I thought the outing was to please me. He bought me lunch in the pub but he didn’t say much then either.

‘Later, about four I think it was, he said he’d arranged to meet a friend but he wanted me to come too. He said his name was Terry.’

‘Just Terry?’ Bob asked as he made a note.

‘Yes. We picked him up out by Safeway’s and this Terry suggested we went to Porthleven. Mark drove round the roundabout and I thought that was where we were going. It wasn’t, of course, we went to that hut. I only got suspicious when Mark turned off the main road, but it was too late by then. It was a two-door car and I was in the back. I couldn’t get out.’ She sounded agitated, as if the fear was more real now the ordeal was over.

‘Take your time, Sarah. Have a break if you need it,’ Bob told her.

‘It’s all right. I’m fine. They took me inside and locked the door. It was planned, I knew that by then, because there was a bag of groceries in the car and Terry carried them in with him. I thought Mark was my boyfriend. How could he do that to me? He was holding my arm; Terry had hold of the other one. There was no point in screaming, no one could possibly have heard me.’ Sarah was twisting her hands. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just that now I’m home I keep thinking of all the things that could have happened.’

Etta stood up and went to her daughter. She hugged her, saddened by the dismay in her face and knowing she could not make amends for what had happened. Sarah had been betrayed by someone she thought had cared for her, and right on top of Joe’s death.

‘Mark said we had to stay there until Tuesday lunchtime then we could go home.’

‘Tuesday lunchtime?’ Bob frowned. Was that when the trawler was due to make its pick-up?

‘I didn’t believe him.’ She paused, chewing her thumbnail, knowing that she might be in trouble if she now told the truth. ‘I know I should’ve said something before, but on the night Joe died, I saw Mark and Terry on the road between Mousehole and Newlyn. I didn’t know it was Terry then, of course. I was on the bus with Amy. She didn’t see them and I didn’t tell her I had done so. It was dark so the bus’s inside lights were on. Mark turned around. He must’ve spotted me and told Terry who I was.’

There was a brief silence as this information was digested. Why hadn’t Sarah come forward before? And why meet him at all if she thought she had anything to fear? They would leave it until tomorrow to find out.

‘Did Mark know Joe?’ It was Etta who asked. She leaned forward, willing Sarah to keep on telling the truth.

‘I’m not sure. By sight, yes, but I don’t know if they ever spoke. Joe saw me with Mark once or twice.’

Etta sat back. How many more things had her children kept from her?

‘I honestly can’t think of any other reason why they were keeping me there other than my having seen them that night, but they didn’t hurt me and they gave me food. Then I began to think that if I was right, if they’d been responsible for Joe’s death, then they could never let me go as I could identify both of them.’

‘Go on, Sarah,’ Bob said. ‘Anything else you can remember might be helpful.’

‘Nothing really. They hardly spoke to me or to each other. Terry went out once for about an hour. Then, today, about four o’clock, I think it was, Terry said he had to go out again but he’d be back later. He handed something to Mark. It wasn’t until later I realised it must’ve been the gun. I had no idea he was armed. Terry knew I couldn’t escape with two of them there but he must’ve realised that I had far more chance with only Mark. Perhaps he thought I could even talk him into letting me go.

‘The time went really slowly but Terry didn’t come back and the next thing was we heard the police asking us to come out. I was so relieved. All I wanted was to come home. Then when Mark opened the door and fired a shot I couldn’t believe it. I thought he was going to shoot me, too. After that – well, you know what happened.’

Bob nodded. ‘Thank you, Sarah.’ But what she had told them was of little help. They would never know if she would have been released in the morning or if Terry had intended returning, and if Mark Hurte didn’t cough up they might never know why Sarah was held there at all. Terry had not taken the car, which had proved to be stolen. Had he returned as planned, he would have been on foot and therefore he would have had ample opportunity to see their cars and take off again without being seen himself.

‘Was anyone hurt?’ Etta asked. Her face was pale. She had had no idea a gun had been involved.

‘Inspector Pearce sustained a flesh wound. It’ll incapacitate him for a while, but he’ll be okay.’ It was the first time since she had introduced herself that the WPC had spoken. ‘We’ll leave it at that until the morning,’ she continued, realising that the Chynoweth family had had enough for one day.

When they had gone Etta hugged Sarah again, holding her tightly, happier than words could express when she responded in kind. There would be no sleep for some time, not until she was sure Sarah really was all right and calm enough to be left on her own. ‘Shall we have some more tea, and then I’ll run you a bath?’ Etta refilled the pot, her hands shaking with relief. When her own mother heard the front door close she popped her head around the kitchen door and said they were going to bed. ‘We’ll leave you two to talk. You can tell us all about it in the morning.’

‘They were so worried,’ Etta said when she heard her parents’ slow footsteps on the landing above, ‘but not as much as I was. It was awful, I was so scared I’d never see you again and we’d parted on not the best of terms. I just wanted you to know that I love you. I kept praying you could read my
thoughts telepathically.’ She touched Sarah’s arm as if she needed reassurance she was really there.

‘It was my fault, Mum,’ Sarah bowed her head and clasped her hands together to stop them from shaking. ‘I was so angry with you I decided not to tell you about Mark. And then, when I saw him that night, I thought you might be right about my friends after all and I didn’t want to admit that.’ I might as well get it all over with, she thought, and began to explain to Etta how she had covered for Amy.

‘Tell me, why were you so angry with me?’ Etta spooned sugar into her cup. Her face felt hot, she was sure she knew what was coming, but it seemed a time for honesty and Etta would not shirk from the truth now that her daughter had provided such a good example. ‘Was it because I disliked Amy and Roz?’

‘No. It was because of that man you’re seeing, I knew about it and I knew he was married. It seemed so unfair, you having a go at me about my friends when – well, when you were carrying on like that.’

‘You’re right. It was hypocritical. But it’s over, Sarah. I won’t be seeing him again.’ It was a relief to have come to that decision. She would keep to her word whatever conclusions Roger had come to while he was in Greece. Nothing mattered more than the restoration of her remaining child. No, not a child, a woman, she realised. Nothing must come between them again. If she met another man, fine, but she would make sure he did not have a wife and he would not be hidden from Sarah. ‘How did you know? You never said anything.’

‘I was with Roz in St Ives. We saw you.’

Etta blushed and stared at her freckled, work-worn hands. ‘I’m sorry. It was an awful way for you to find out.’

‘He’s very rich, isn’t he?’

‘You know him?’

Sarah shook her head. ‘When he left you we followed him. He went up this long drive, it led to a big house with a swimming-pool. We knew he lived there because he let himself in.’

Etta had never been there, had never even seen it. Her daughter knew something about Roger Hammond which she did not. She frowned. ‘Did you or Roz ever mention this to anyone?’

‘Why?’

‘I just wondered. The house was broken into recently. It was on the news tonight. A lot of valuable things were taken, paintings mostly, I believe.’

‘Oh, God.’

‘Sarah? What is it?’

‘I told Mark. I was so upset and Roz didn’t seem to understand. She said good luck to you and that I should grow up because you were entitled to a life of your own. I thought Mark might take my side. He said he’d find out the man’s name. It’s Roger Hammond, isn’t it?’