The Sting of Death (26 page)

‘You look terrible!’ Sheena gasped, shaken into rationality for a moment.

‘So do you.’ Justine managed a ghastly smile. ‘Death does that to people – even the ones still left alive.’

‘He did kill Penn, didn’t he?’

‘And Georgia, I’m afraid, though probably by accident. I don’t think anyone will believe his claim that Penn did it.’

‘But why leave her in that ditch for so long? Pretending he didn’t have an idea where she was?’

‘Sheena, he wasn’t thinking straight. He’s really not well, is he? He hasn’t been right since his father died. You know – well, maybe you don’t – but when somebody dies, it brings back terribly strong memories of previous deaths. It must have been like that for Philip. When Georgia fell off the ladder in that same barn where his cows were killed and his father hanged himself, he must have completely flipped. He’d have done anything to avoid going through those same feelings again. I think he threatened Penn, told her it was all her fault, that he was going to tell you it was her that did it. And then somehow she made him see that that would mean you finding out about her and him. And he really didn’t want that. That’s the secret he was most desperate to
keep, from start to finish. He doesn’t want your marriage to break up. That would be the final straw.’ She spoke quickly, breathlessly, pouring out the explanation as convincingly as she could.

Sheena sobbed, breaking down without warning, wrapping her arms around her head as she had always done when upset.

‘Listen,’ Justine pressed on urgently. ‘I could be wrong, but I think I do understand. He promised Penn all kinds of wild things: running away together, even leaving the country. She’s been hankering to live permanently in Poland for years now. And with farming the way it is, there’d have been some attraction in the idea for him, too. But I doubt very much if he’d ever have gone. Or if he did it would be in his own good time, perhaps thinking he could persuade you to go as well. Personally, I’m convinced he’d never have found the nerve.’

‘No,’ sniffed Sheena. ‘He wouldn’t. It would mean selling the farm and he’d never have done that. It’s all he’s ever known.’

‘So when Penn managed to calm him down, she must have dreamt up the idea of making it look as if I’d gone off with Georgia on a camping trip – which meant I would have to be disposed of, and your mother-in-law told of a sudden change of plan. The thing that puzzles me is why
she kept saying it was for my own good when she locked me up in that awful little shack.’

‘What?’ Sheena frowned bleary bewilderment.

‘Did you never hear what happened to me? Well, it doesn’t matter now. The point is, they needed to make it look as if I’d gone off with Georgia, but it got stupidly complicated when it came to the cars. I guess they decided to dump mine somewhere it would never be found, and he was too lazy or scared to make a decent job of it.’

‘Perhaps he intended to kill you, too and make it look as if an intruder had done it,’ Sheena suggested, almost casually. ‘And Penn wanted to save you, seeing you’re her cousin and her friend.’

A cold shiver ran through Justine at the way this new idea had been presented. As if Sheena knew even without thinking about it what Philip could be capable of.

It made all too much sense. ‘So she was doing the best she could for me in the circumstances. Funny, though. Even now I don’t feel a bit grateful to her.’

‘I hate her!’ Sheena exploded. ‘She’s taken everything from me.’

‘She’s paid the price,’ Justine murmured. ‘Don’t forget that.’

‘No.’ Sheena shook her head wildly. ‘By
letting him kill her, she’s won. He’ll go to prison for years and years, if he ever recovers enough. You haven’t seen how he is. He’s got worse since yesterday. Like a zombie, just staring at nothing. It’s as if he’s not there any more.’ She sobbed again, louder than before.

‘You think Penn just lay there and let him kill her?’ Justine couldn’t let the story fizzle out now. She gripped Sheena’s arm and shook her. ‘Sheena! Stop it. It’ll help to talk about it and we both need to understand.’ She swallowed a surge of tears of her own, thinking of dead children and a lost cousin. ‘Maybe we need each other, too,’ she added.

Sheena turned a desolate face towards Justine. ‘To Philip it would be just like when they killed his pigs: a needle full of poison, quick and simple. It’s
exactly
the way he’d choose to kill somebody. He wouldn’t even have to think about it.’

A sudden noise outside the room reminded them that they would have to rejoin the real world before long. ‘The police will never understand why he did it, will they?’ Sheena went on. ‘Unless I tell them.’

‘I think there might be someone else who knows even more than we do,’ Justine realised slowly. ‘Someone they’ll have interviewed by now.’

Sheena showed no curiosity as to who this might be. Instead she was staring hopefully at
the door and when it opened, she was out of her chair, straining to hear that she could go back to her husband’s side.

‘Yes,’ the woman nodded. ‘You can have a few minutes with him. But we’ll be moving him in a little while, to a specialist unit. I’m afraid the doctors can’t do anything for him here.’

Sheena elbowed the woman out of the way, forgetting Justine completely. A second woman in police uniform was hovering outside the room and stepped aside as Sheena pushed past.

‘Well,’ said Justine, ‘this looks like my marching orders. I hope I did what she wanted.’ She watched the receding figure with some resentment.

‘Don’t take it personally, luv,’ said the policewoman.

‘No. Right. Well, I’ll be off now.’ But she only took a couple of steps before turning back. ‘So they think Philip’s going to get better?’ she asked. ‘I mean, people don’t stay like that for long, do they?’

‘Probably not, Miss,’ came the reply. ‘If you ask me, he’s better off the way he is. His future isn’t exactly rosy, after all.’

‘You don’t think he’s
pretending
, do you?’

‘Who can say, Miss?’

Justine had borrowed her mother’s car, and now she sped home at a reckless pace. She put a tape in the player, turned up loud to keep her awake. Suddenly sleep seemed immensely attractive, an escape from the grief and confusion on every side.

It had been nearly two weeks now since she’d been separated from her anti-depressants and for several days she hadn’t given them a thought. Life had been so strange during the time, it was almost like being on some sort of hallucinogen. But since Thursday, when Roma had found little Georgia and the uncompromising reality of the situation had forced itself through to her, she’d felt as if she was finally coming alive, after five long years. Even the scenery seemed to gain a dimension – trees were aggressively vivid as she passed them; faces revealed emotions and thoughts that she had not previously noticed. Without her drugs it was as if a film of gauze had been torn away from her senses and she was seeing things as they actually were for a change.

How would this affect her pottery, she wondered. Would her bold stark designs be too much to take now? Would she prefer small intricate shapes and patterns instead? It was an intriguing and disturbing question.

But it was also an avoidance of much more
urgent questions. And as she had already said to Sheena, there was only one person who seemed likely to have some of the answers.

Laurie was in the garden, a tall glass of fruit juice by his elbow, the dog at his feet. He wore a light open-necked shirt and a pair of khaki shorts. The informality was somehow endearing, as if he was making an effort to keep up with the world. His pale legs were sparsely sprinkled with grey hairs, his feet were in blue socks and leather sandals.

‘She’s told you all about last night, I suppose?’ Justine opened the conversation, having remained quietly at his feet, playing with the dog’s long ears for a moment.

‘It sounded like something out of
Girl’s Annual
,’ he commented. ‘You were lucky nobody got hurt.’

‘Philip Renton killed Penn, you know. There’s no doubt about that.’

Laurie said nothing, sinking his head on his chest and fixing his gaze on Lolly.

‘You knew she was having an affair with him, didn’t you? Did you also know she was there when Georgia died? Did she tell you before or after you went to Bournemouth with her? Did you know she was dreaming of running off to Poland with him?’

‘Justine!’ Her mother’s voice rang out, full of
rage, the special school-mistress tone impossible to withstand.

The girl looked round quickly. ‘What?’ she muttered.

‘Leave him alone. How dare you?’ Roma was standing on the patio, a few feet away.

Justine took a deep breath. ‘I have every right to know. You seem to forget that Penn assaulted me. I think Laurie knows all about it, and why she did it.’

‘She was a very dear girl,’ Laurie mumbled, suddenly very old. ‘I can’t believe she’s dead. She never deserved that.’

Justine laughed bitterly. ‘When did
deserving
have anything to do with it? Did my Sarah deserve to die? Or poor little Georgia?’

‘Laurie didn’t know what Penn had done,’ Roma said, walking towards them. ‘Nobody did.’

Justine looked from one to the other. ‘I don’t believe you,’ she said. ‘Just more lies – there’s been nothing but lies since this began.’

Laurie moaned quietly. ‘I didn’t know, Justine. I admit that Penn lied to me. I don’t think she meant any harm by it. But she told me that Sheena had killed the little girl.’ He raised his eyes slowly to meet Justine’s. ‘And I believed her at the time.’

Justine looked wildly at her mother. ‘What?’ she demanded. ‘What does he mean?’

Roma took a step backwards, waving a hand as if to dissipate the question. ‘Don’t ask me,’ she protested. ‘What do I know about it?’

Laurie cleared his throat. ‘There are different kinds of truth,’ he murmured. ‘Different methods of killing someone. Different ways in which a person can be responsible.’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake,’ Roma pleaded. ‘Don’t go all philosophical on me.’

Justine flopped down on the grass and covered her eyes with a pale forearm. ‘I’m tired,’ she said. ‘I can’t do this now.’

‘Let it go,’ Laurie advised. ‘It’s the only way.’

Roma sucked in a hissing breath, but said nothing.

All three knew that however much they might wish it, the story hadn’t finished yet.

Karen followed Drew up to the bedroom when he came in that evening and went to change his clothes. The weather was warming up relentlessly, the air heavy and sultry.

‘I do feel strange,’ she said. ‘I can’t really pretend to be bereaved, when I hardly even knew Penn – but I suppose I am in a way. And it’s so much worse that she was murdered. It seems so terribly cruel.’

‘I know,’ he sympathised. ‘I feel much the same. She was so young, for one thing. Even if she hadn’t been related, we’d feel sad about that part of it.’

‘And it’s even more confusing because we don’t know whether she was good or bad,
I mean she
might
have killed that little girl. I don’t suppose we’ll ever know for sure. And that’ll stain her memory for everybody. Even poor Aunt Helen isn’t totally convinced of her blamelessness and she still doesn’t know half the story.’

‘I don’t think we do, either. Maggs seems to have taken over the detective aspect of things in the past few days. I’ve been too busy to listen to every detail of what’s been going on.’

‘She’s having a romance – that’s what’s going on,’ smiled Karen. ‘It’s very sweet, isn’t it.’

‘It would be if I thought he’d be any good for her,’ Drew said sourly. ‘As it is, the chap’s already going through a crisis – trying to start a new relationship at the same time must be asking for trouble.’

‘Come on, Drew. Life doesn’t work like that. You don’t settle one dilemma all nice and tidy and then start the next thing. It comes in a great big jumble. Look at us last year – everything happening at once. It goes like that.’

‘Yeah, I know,’ he sighed. ‘But I hate to think of Maggs getting caught up in someone else’s mess. She’s always been so direct and
clear-sighted
about everything.’

‘Then she’s probably exactly what he needs,’ said Karen.

Roma couldn’t rid herself of the feeling that everybody but her had begun to accept that there was little more to be said on the subject of the Rentons and Penn. Despite the welter of practicalities to be sorted out between Sheena and Justine and Helen, the horror of Penn’s funeral still had to be faced and the abiding misery surrounding the death of little Georgia. Nobody seemed to be asking questions any more.

Nobody, that is, except Roma. And because Laurie was so stuck in grief and sickness, she couldn’t address any of them to him. Helen was distraught at the loss of Penn, and Justine had put up the shutters for the foreseeable future. Which only left one person.

Or so she thought. When a battered white car rumbled its way towards her garden gate, she had to revise her opinion. Here, astonishingly, was another person she might be able to talk to. Someone who had some explaining to do of his own.

She intercepted him at the gate and steered him back towards his car. ‘Not here,’ she hissed at him. ‘We can’t stay here. Drive back the way you came and we can stop at the Swan. She stared hard at the car. ‘Carlos – it
isn’t
the same one, is it?’

He laughed, the same high peal of pleasure she had always enjoyed. ‘No, no, it isn’t the same
one, but it’s very like it. That was a good car. I’m glad you remember it.’

Inside it was filthy, so much so that Roma hesitated before sitting on the muddy seat. ‘What have you been doing in it?’ she demanded.

He glanced around vaguely. ‘Nothing special.’

He drove them to the pub and waited for Roma to fetch the drinks, as he’d always done. She felt a pang of unease at the way the years fell off her shoulders, leaving her thirty-five again, with her handsome Spanish husband who was so obviously going to be a rich and famous artist.

‘Are you still painting?’ she asked him, carrying the beers back to their table in the garden.

‘Off and on,’ he nodded. ‘When I feel like it.’

‘Not making any money, I suppose?’

He grinned, ‘Hardly any.’

‘Carlos, why did you hit Philip Renton like that? Haven’t you calmed down at all, in all these years? Are you still as crazy as ever?’

He rolled his eyes and bared his teeth, ran fingers through his thick black hair. ‘What do you think?’ he growled.

‘I think it’s all an act. What did you have against the man?’

He drooped suddenly. ‘It was Penn,’ he confided. ‘She phoned me and said Justine was in trouble, but I was never to tell anybody that
she’d told me about it. Now the poor girl’s been killed, I suppose I can break the secret.’

‘When was this?’

‘Oh.’ He flapped a hand. ‘A weekend.
Last
weekend. I mean the one before last. I had to drive down here on a Sunday, with the thousands of stupid trippers and their horrible caravans. I hate this part of England.’

‘Yes, I know. You always did. So what did Penn tell you?’

‘She told me to go to a derelict house, off the B3151 …’

‘You can remember where it was?’ Roma interrupted excitedly.

‘Who could forget the B3151?’ he demanded. ‘It’s poetry.’

‘All right. So you went. On the Sunday.’

‘The car broke down,’ he admitted. ‘And I couldn’t find a garage, so I had to wait until Monday. And then it took them hours to fix it, so it was in fact
Tuesday
, when I reached the place. But I found it, yes, and it was empty. All the windows downstairs were boarded over, but the clever girl had made a way out upstairs.’

‘Carlos, does Justine know that you went there to find her?’

He shook his head emphatically. ‘Penn told me not to tell anybody. I haven’t really had any words with Justine, even when I came to your
house on Friday. You don’t let me stay for long, remember?’

‘I didn’t let anybody stay for long. I’d had just about enough by then.’

‘Poor Roma. Never mind. You’re very strong – you’ll get over it all.’

‘That’s what you said before,’ she remembered. ‘When we got divorced.’

‘And I was right. Now you have that sweet old man to keep you company.’

‘He’s not so old,’ she said automatically. ‘Only seventy.’

‘Of course,’ he agreed. ‘And I am a child of fifty-eight.’

‘You’re a witness to Justine’s story,’ she mused. ‘And Penn sent you to rescue her before she could starve to death.’ She eyed him doubtfully. ‘How did she know where to find you?’

‘She was Justine’s cousin and her friend!’ he reproached. ‘They came to visit me. She had one of my cards. I give
everybody
one of my cards. I have hundreds of them printed every year. I am the easiest person in the world to find.’

Roma laughed weakly. ‘Oh Carlos!’ she said.

‘So then,’ he went on, as if the story still had a long way to go, ‘I was worried and angry. What should I do? Was Justine all right? Where had Penn gone to? Should I go home again? I did not have Penn’s telephone number and the
stupid Directory person said she wasn’t listed. Of course, I could have mis-spelt her name. It’s much too foreign to be sure how to spell it. But I had the number for Mr Renton, so I called him, and pretended that I knew nothing of what was going on. I asked him if I could speak to Justine. That’s all. And guess what he said to me.’

Roma shook her head.

‘He said Justine was a bloody little criminal, who had kidnapped his baby and was being searched for by the police.’

‘Did he know who you were?’

‘Oh yes. I said I was her father, planning to come and visit her. He said I should be ashamed of myself for raising such a person. And other things.’

‘He knew she hadn’t taken Georgia,’ Roma said in puzzlement. Then her face cleared. ‘His wife must have been listening. It was all an act for her benefit.’

‘Anyway, that’s why I smashed his face for him. Nobody says such stuff about my girl. And there was also the matter of the police.’

‘Explain.’

‘I called Barney, you see …’

‘Barney?’

‘My lodger. He cleans my house and looks after me, instead of paying rent. He takes messages for me too.’

Roma was dumbfounded. ‘Carlos, he sounds more like a valet than a lodger. Or a gay lover.’ She fixed him with a probing look.

‘Whatever.’ He waved the details away. ‘Barney told me the police had telephoned asking if we knew where Justine might be. So then I knew the Renton man had told his lies to the cops and I had to bash him for it. Simple.’

‘You devil,’ she said, unable to conceal the admiration. ‘Now they think you’re a loony, loose on the community.’

‘Mostly I am just a loony,’ he admitted regretfully. ‘A sad and harmless loony.’

‘But they let you go, in spite of the bashing,’ she noted. ‘Have you got to face charges? Is there a court case coming up?’

He gave her a superior look. ‘Roma, I am told by your sister that Mr Renton is Penn’s killer. I hardly think he’s going to prosecute me now, is he?’

‘Probably not,’ she sighed. ‘You were always a lucky bugger.’

Somehow, she realised, the conversation had been hijacked from the outset, and she was not going to find an opportunity to explore the areas of the story which remained stubbornly grey.

‘Carlos – why did you come to see me?’

‘Just for old time’s sake,’ he smiled. ‘And because I think we are forever tied together,
through our girl, and the little grand-daughter …’ His eyes filled, without warning, and Roma, to her horror, felt hers do the same. Blindly, each reached for the other’s hand. ‘That little girl should have been spared to grow up and make us all happy.’

‘She’d be eight tomorrow,’ Roma whispered. ‘I’ve been trying so hard not to remember the date, but it’s cut into my heart forever.’

‘And Justine’s too,’ he said.

‘And Justine’s too,’ she agreed.

Maggs gave Drew a full day before she confronted him. ‘You and Den had drinks together, didn’t you? On Saturday night? Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘It had nothing to do with you,’ he defended hotly.

‘Well it has now, because he told me all about it. How he’s thinking of quitting the police and wants something else to do.’

‘So? Why are you so cross about it?’

‘Because you should have said something. We have to find him another job. And I was wondering …’ her glance strayed to the burial ground. Drew got her meaning instantly.

‘No! Don’t be silly. There isn’t anywhere near enough work. You know there isn’t. And …’

‘You don’t like him,’ she finished sadly. ‘It’s
all right. You can say it.’

‘I do like him, Maggs. He’s a great chap. But not many people want to work as an undertaker. Have you suggested it to him? Don’t pretend it was his idea.’

She shook her head. ‘No. I wanted to run it past you first.’

‘Well it’s daft. Believe me. He’d be the first to agree.’

‘Maybe,’ she said grudgingly. ‘But he’s got to find something. He’s really had it with the police, you know.’

‘I know,’ Drew nodded.

Detective Inspector Hemsley was packing up whatever notes he had concerning Mr and Mrs Renton, to dispatch to the Superintendent of the Devon Constabulary. There were very few loose ends remaining, as far as he could see, as far as the facts were concerned. It should never have been a matter for the Okehampton police anyway. He had been both appalled and entertained by the extraordinary story of the undertaker’s assistant and the video camera, hearing it from top to bottom in Exeter.

He paused, and re-read his words. Would they ever know the full truth, he wondered. Even if Renton recovered his wits, as he was already showing signs of doing, there was no guarantee that he would ever disclose his true motives and
intentions. According to the officer watching over him in hospital, all his talk was of cows and sheep and pigs and the stink of their rotting bodies.

Hemsley, like Cooper, could never forget the ravages of the foot and mouth outbreak, sweeping like a modern pestilence through people’s lives, shaking all their certainties and filling their souls with such shame that many found it beyond bearing. The balance of Renton’s mind was surely impaired beyond complete recovery as a result of the horrors he had witnessed.

No wonder
, he thought, in a moment of terrible desolation,
no wonder Cooper wants to get the hell out of this.

Den could feel the ground tilting beneath his feet, tipping him out of his secure rut as surely as if he’d stepped onto a ski slope without knowing how to stop. After years of unquestioning identity as a policeman, he was now actively trying to change. Despite all the wise advice of centuries – always run
to
something, never away – he was going to escape into a void. He had no debts, even some modest savings; he was ready, even anxious, to sell his flat, which would bring in a little bit of positive equity. He had his health and the backing of an unbelievably good woman. It might be a void, but it was a rose-tinted one.

But first, for his own peace of mind, he had to tidy up one or two loose ends. He had to go and visit Roma Millan.

She came to the door carrying a small white plastic bucket with a close-fitting lid. ‘Oh, sorry!’ she exclaimed. ‘I was just going to feed my new bees.’

‘Don’t let me interrupt,’ he said easily. ‘I’ll come with you, shall I?’

‘If you like. You’re not scared of them, then?’

‘Should I be?’

‘Of course not.’

They walked across the field behind Roma’s house, Den suddenly apprehending how similar the layout was to Drew Slocombe’s property. There seemed to be some hidden but promising message in this.

‘We’ll be releasing your niece’s body today,’ he said. ‘Her mother will be wanting to arrange the funeral.’

‘I’m not sure
wanting
is quite the right word, but yes, it’ll have to be done. Poor Penn. She was a lovely girl, you know. I don’t think we’ll ever understand what went wrong.’

‘Mr Inspector believes that Mr Renton has been mentally ill ever since the foot and mouth outbreak. It led to the loss of all the stock and his father’s suicide.’

‘That doesn’t explain anything, really, though. Does it?’

‘I don’t know. I think perhaps it does. He must have had a big influence over Penn. Women fall for damaged men – have you noticed? It seems to be in their nature.’