At nine thirty they went their separate ways, Barry in the car, Rose and Laura on foot because they had refused his offer of a lift.
As an inspector, especially being the one already in charge of the case, Jack was responsible for organising things at the scene of the crime; the second crime; no longer abduction, but murder.
On that bright Sunday morning Jacko Tonkin
had been walking his dog. He lived in the centre of Marazion where it was impossible to let Benji off the lead. He had retired almost five years ago, by then already a widower, and driving out to the countryside where Benji could run free, gave him something to do.
Jacko was fit for his seventy years and the dog helped him keep that way. Together they had discovered a footpath which crossed two fields and wound through some woodland. ‘What’s he found now?’ Jacko muttered as Benji began rooting around some distance off the footpath. When called, Benji, usually so obedient, failed to respond to his master. Still muttering crossly, Jacko went in after him; brambles, denuded of their fruit and foliage, tore at his clothing.
He was about to reach for the dog’s collar but what he saw sent him staggering backwards. Beneath the tangle of the undergrowth was the decomposing body of a child. He steadied himself against the trunk of a tree as he first retched, then vomited, splashing his shoes in the process.
With a great effort of will he fastened Benji’s lead and dragged him away. Not taking his eyes off the spot he used the mobile phone his daughter had given him last Christmas, insisting he didn’t go out without it, and rang the police.
It seemed an age until they arrived, two men tramping along the path, although they had had to do as he had done and park in the layby before walking the rest of the way. When Jacko looked at his watch it had, in fact, been no more than twenty minutes.
Trembling, he told them what Benji had found, then he pointed with a shaking finger towards where the body lay. Benji growled as the two men approached the spot.
Like himself, one of the officers vomited. He was young, it might have been the first time he had faced death, at least in that form.
An hour later Jacko was back in his house sitting by the fire, sipping hot, sweet tea laced with brandy. A policeman was with him to make sure he was all right as he had refused to go to hospital to be assessed for shock. In the morning he would be required to make a statement, but he wasn’t up to it yet.
Without being told, he knew exactly who the person was that Benji had inadvertently found.
By the time Jack arrived the arc lamps were in position and a tent had been erected over the place where Beth Jones lay. Only when the officers had reported back had he arranged for the members
of the serious crime team to be despatched to the spot. It would have been a total waste of time and money if the call had been a hoax.
What Jack saw sickened him but his stomach did not let him down. And at least they were fortunate in that there were no onlookers, no passing people needing to be moved on.
It was dark by the time they had packed up. By then Jack realised that there was no way in which the mother could be asked to identify the child. The clothes would have to suffice because both the natural consequences of death and nature, in the form of foxes or rats, had taken their course. Clothes and a detailed dental comparison, Jack thought as they made their way back to their various vehicles.
Sally Jones and her mother were accompanied to the hospital mortuary. The child’s clothes, not too badly damaged, were laid out on a table in plastic evidence bags. Sally took one look at them and fainted. No one was able to catch her before she fell to the floor. Alice Jones was bent double, her face in her hands.
Someone must have taken them home but it was a journey they could not remember. Once more a female officer remained with them, making them tea and encouraging them to talk through their grief.
Yet another night passed without sleep in that household. Sally knew that both Carol and Michael had been informed but neither of them made contact. It was just as well; she wouldn’t have been able to bear to speak to them.
Back at the station in Camborne, Jack had sent someone to break the news to Michael Poole and Carol Harte, then he set the paperwork in motion. Once that was done he sat in his chair and thought over all that had happened. The Home Office pathologist estimated that Beth had been dead for at least four days, possibly even five, which meant that she was killed immediately after she was taken from the beach. From his initial examination it appeared that no sexual motive was involved; the post mortem would tell them for certain. Would that be a comfort to her parents? He could only hope so. As yet, the identification could not be taken for granted, although Jack had little doubt that the child was Beth. Murderers did change their victims’ clothes and any other forms of identification, but in this case it seemed highly unlikely, especially as no other child was on their books as missing. The hair is hers, Jack thought, the long, dark hair of the photograph that Sally had provided, the same
colour her mother’s would have been had she not dyed it blonde.
He had already roused the dentist who had promised to go straight to his surgery for Beth’s notes. ‘Do you want me to deliver them to you?’ he had asked, surprising Jack with his willingness, even eagerness to help.
‘If you don’t mind. We’d be very grateful.’ They would be on hand ready for the post mortem which had been scheduled for the morning.
There was nothing more that could be done that night. In the morning, in daylight and when a little of the shock had worn off, the interviews would begin again. But where to go with them? The only difference now, horrendous as it was, was that Beth was dead. Nothing they did could bring her back. What more can we do that we haven’t done already, Jack asked himself as he switched off the light and left the building.
He felt dirty and in need of a long scalding shower and a stiff drink, but more than that he wanted to see Rose.
He drove straight to her house. No longer tired, but fuelled by adrenalin, he needed to talk.
The roads were busier than he had anticipated and approaching headlights flashed past him at regular intervals. On the more brightly lit outskirts
of Penzance he wound down his window and let the chill air wash over him. He began to feel less stale.
Driving along the Promenade he could smell the sea, a smell he had known all his life apart from the short time he had lived in Leeds, where he had transferred to gain experience; a time when he learnt that he could never be happy anywhere other than Cornwall. He had persuaded Marian, his then wife, to move back down with him, but the same had applied in reverse. They were divorced not long after she returned to Leeds. It was all quite amicable; they simply realised that they wanted different things from life. The boys, men now, had spent a great deal of their holidays with Jack and both were keen surfers. He smiled as he recalled how, on his last visit, Daniel had proclaimed that Rose was ‘a bit of all right’.
As he changed gear to turn the sharp corner into Rose’s drive he was relieved to see that the lights were on. Good. Rose was at home.
‘I’ve seen it all before, Trevor,’ Laura commented as she made him a sandwich for supper. They had eaten earlier but Trevor had been working on the boat and was hungry again. The small gold cross he wore in his ear glinted beneath the kitchen spotlights, revealed only when he pushed back
his hair which rested on the collar of his thick, checked shirt.
‘Seen what before?’ he asked without raising his head from the newspaper.
‘Don’t you ever listen to anything I say?’
He put the newspaper down and saw his wife’s shoulders jerking as she sliced his sandwich in two. The danger signs were all too familiar. He had better pay attention now. ‘Of course I do. This, I assume, has to be to do with Rose.’ He reached out and slapped her on the bottom, but only gently.
She turned to him and smiled. The danger was over, another row had been averted. ‘Yes. It’s bad enough that she saw that little girl taken from her mother, how’s she going to feel now?’
Trevor understood what Laura meant. He knew Rose as well as anyone could know another person who did not share his house. She would feel responsible and guilty without reason, that was how she was. And this was what was bothering his wife. Rose would desperately want to make amends and would probably end up in trouble by doing so. ‘You can’t stop her, Laura, you know that as well as I do.’
‘I realise that, but do you think it would be a good idea to forewarn Jack?’
‘No. I don’t. He’ll have enough on his plate at the moment and you know what he’s like where Rose is concerned. He doesn’t need the extra worry right now, he won’t be able to concentrate if he’s wondering what Rose is going to be doing next.’
‘You’re right.’ She kissed the top of his head as she handed him his sandwich.
Trevor felt it was safe to return to the newspaper.
Laura, sitting opposite him was deep in thought as she sipped her tea. ‘I’m off to bed,’ she said ten minutes later. ‘Have you finished with the teapot?’
He nodded, grinning, as she picked it up and emptied it down the sink. ‘But I haven’t finished with you, maid. Get up those stairs and get your kit off, woman. I’ll be right behind you.’
‘Honestly, you don’t ever change.’
‘And aren’t you glad of that,’ he responded with another grin as he put an arm around her shoulder and they went upstairs together.
‘I know it’s late, Jack, but there’s something you should know. Can you ring me, or come over, if possible. It’s about Tuesday, I think it’s important.’ Rose hung up. She had telephoned twice before but had not left a message and she didn’t want to ring him at Camborne, knowing it would be hectic there.
Half an hour later his car pulled into the drive. She hurried to the kitchen to let him in. Before she could speak he pulled her to him and held her closely. ‘What a hell of a day,’ he said, as he breathed in the scent of her hair; lemon shampoo with a hint of smoke from one of her rationed cigarettes.
‘I’m glad you got the message. I think it really is important.’
He took a step backwards and stared at her uncomprehendingly. ‘What message?’
‘I left one for you at the flat. I thought that was why you’re here.’
‘No. I haven’t been home. I just wanted to see you.’
She took in his tired face. ‘Shall I make us some tea?’
‘No, a stiff drink’s what I need.’
She poured whisky for him, adding two lumps of ice, as he liked it, and wine for herself. They went through to the sitting-room where it was warmer and more comfortable.
‘Tell me the worst,’ Jack said once they were seated.
‘I saw Norma today and she told me something, quite inadvertently, that didn’t fit in with what I saw.’
‘Go on.’ He leant forward knowing that whatever she said it would be important. Rose was a reliable witness and didn’t miss much.
‘I remember thinking at the time, when Beth went off with that man, that she was far too skimpily dressed for the weather. Well, this morning Norma said that when she last saw Beth it was on Tuesday morning. She was going out of the house with Sally and she was wearing her new jacket. The thing is, Jack, she wasn’t wearing it when I saw her and Sally didn’t have it with her. All she had was her handbag. When I saw Beth she was wearing jeans, a shirt and a woollen top.’
Jack frowned. Perhaps Beth had been running around and was hot, the coat removed and lying forgotten on the beach, forgotten because of what had happened next. No, that was impossible, the beach had been searched. ‘But she was wearing it when we found her.’
‘How odd. So in that case, where was it?’
Jack thought about it for several minutes. One explanation came to mind. ‘If someone gave them a lift down to the beach, the coat may have been left in the car. Whoever dropped them off parked, then walked down and took Beth. Now Beth either knows who he is or recognises him because of the lift so she goes off with him willingly. Then,
either before or after he’s killed her, he puts her coat back on. He obviously can’t afford to be found in possession of it.’ He shrugged. It was a weak explanation but the best he could come up with. Deep down he didn’t actually think it had happened that way. No one, including Sally, had mentioned them getting a lift, but maybe it hadn’t been considered important.
‘I suppose, it’s possible, but what mother would leave a child’s coat behind on a day like that?’
‘It depends upon the mother.’
‘Yes.’ They were both thinking the same thing. If Carol’s account of her sister had any grain of truth in it, if Sally truly was an unfit mother, then it could easily have been overlooked.
Rose went on to explain her theory about sibling rivalry. Jack listened carefully. If, under such circumstances, the two women had rowed then it might be as serious as Rose was suggesting.
‘And another thing, Carol has a boyfriend. You don’t think he might be involved, do you? I mean, Beth could have met him at some point.’
‘Boyfriend? How the hell do you find these things out?’
Rose blushed. She did not want to involve Geoff Carter if it could be avoided.
‘Is there anything else you’re holding back?’
‘I wasn’t holding back, as you put it, so there’s no need for sarcasm. I only remembered what Norma told me this evening and until I saw him myself the question of the boyfriend was only hearsay. Carol could have lied to Geoff, to gain attention, or to feed her obsession or for any number of reasons.’ Too late, Rose realised what she had just said. Jack was smiling.
‘Ah, Geoff Carter. So he’s been sniffing around there, too.’
‘Not this time. This was different.’
‘If you say so. Anyway, you were saying, you saw the boyfriend.’
She nodded, knowing she was about to add fuel to the fire. ‘We were at Carol’s bungalow. I’d gone to see Sally, to see if there was anything I could do and Norma was just on her way out. We heard part of the quarrel and I decided it was best not to go up. Within seconds Michael Poole came down the stairs and then, very soon afterwards, Carol did. She invited us to her place for coffee.’