Chapter 31

Back in the Echo’s online archive, I put P. Windermere into its search engine and a long list of reports appears but not enough to cover his long career. Next I try Perry Windermere without success.

Anita Blaine responds to my message: We all called him Windy – a cheeky name for his long-winded reports. I think he used his full name in the early days. Peregrine.

Peregrine Windermere. It appears that Mrs Cumberbatch had a role model.

With the name Antigone, I allow myself a smug chuckle at the expense of Tremayne and Peregrine and type Peregrine into the search bar. Amongst the large number of stories dating back decades, my eyes fix on one headline I’ve seen before.

Bikini Babe Catches Killer

By Peregrine Windermere, Crime Reporter

This is the piece that broke Helena’s ‘bikini experiment’, the story made possible because someone on Helena’s support team leaked the tantalising photos to a reporter.

A reporter named Perry Windermere.

This story made Helena a celebrity, the darling of the paparazzi and the press that splashed her across the headlines every time she looked through a magnifying glass or had a forensic breakthrough. It’s the first time I’ve seen the photos from that day at Impulse Cove and it’s clear that the photographer had more in mind than documenting the experiment.

The close-ups snapped Helena from a number of revealing angles as she leapt across the planks of the jetty, bent over the end, lowered herself onto all fours and dropped one leg over the edge. She had the perfect face and figure for it. It could have been a fashion shoot. The latest look thirty years ago: a bikini teamed with a hi-vis-vest, pebbles in the pockets optional.

Scrolling down the list of Perry’s other crime reports, I find he covered almost all the Echo’s stories about Helena. This included interviewing her several times. I recognise a photo taken in her kitchen and another on her doorstep posing with her book, ‘Dabbling in DNA’.

Then there are detailed daily stories, documenting the abduction and murder of Alex Loxton. I plan to skim each one for the ‘confusing DNA evidence’ he mentioned, even though that might be a red herring. I’ll also look for anything Perry declined to mention which might be much more interesting.

When he knew I was asking about this case in particular, Perry didn’t mention his long-term connection with Helena. It’s akin to a conflict of interest. And after his cagey manner and his description of Lou-Lou’s story as ‘fanciful’, I get the niggling feeling the word might have been a projection, actually describing the few things he told me.

This research for Lou-Lou has taken half the day. I also have a life to live and a mystery to write.

Sim finally gets back to me about Fletch’s photo of the Dunlin wading in Merton Mire.

“It’s his own photo, Tiggy. But he’s been selling framed prints of it for a couple of years. He has a stall at the Topsham Saturday Market.”

“Is that a problem?” I ask.

“I’d just prefer to use an image for the cover that’s not hanging on everyone’s wall in your local area. And I’d want to make changes to it to match the look of the other books in the series. So instead, Fletch has agreed that you can buy a framed print from him, pay extra for him to sign it to you personally and he’s given permission to describe it in the book. Then you can link to his website in the credits and on your social media pages. That’s good publicity for him. Selling his own prints will earn more than our fee. And by the way his full name is Fletcher Christian.”

“The sailor who led the mutiny on the Bounty? No wonder he likes the steam-punk look. I wonder if it’s his real name.”

“Parents can do awful things when they name their kids. Or he’s named himself after his hero. Anyway, Fletch is expecting you at the market on Saturday. Get a receipt and I’ll reimburse you.”

“I’ll buy him a coffee,” I say. “There’s a fun eco stall at the market. They roast and brew their own beans and use quirky recycled ceramic cups from charity shops that you can either pay for and keep or return to the stall. I always get a coffee from them when I’m there.”

“I’ll let you pay for the coffees!” Sim says.

Another photo comes through from Charlie. The burner phone is now my direct communication with a man I met for barely an hour. At least he’s not inviting me for a drink.

This time it’s a child of about two, wearing rubber boots and stomping in a puddle. Charlie’s child? But it looks like an old photo. The quality isn’t great so it might be scanned from a print.

I suppose I’ll eventually work out what the pictures mean and why he’s sending them to me. Or he’ll tell me. I haven’t replied to any of them and he doesn’t seem to expect me too.

Next it’s a call from Anita Blaine.

“I’ve just had a phone call from a very upset Perry Windermere. You lied to me, Tiggy. He says you quizzed him about the murder of Alex Loxton. If I’d known you were going to do that I wouldn’t have given you his name.”

I don’t want to tell her I’m helping Lou-Lou.

“His reports came up in the archives,” I say. “I thought he’d be happy to talk about the old cases he covered.”

“I could have told you not to go there. He got to know Helena Loxton, and the murder of Alex was on her watch. Perry’s very protective of her. And Electra. But he couldn’t save Electra.”

“What do you mean? We didn’t talk about her at all.”

“I’ll tell you but I’m warning you off digging any further into this tragedy for your book.”

Not for my book. For Lou-Lou.

“Electra blamed herself for Alex’s death,” Anita says. “She was only eleven but she was bleating about her Halloween costume and Helena went upstairs to help her and took her eyes off Alex. The guilt stuck with Electra until she … drowned. All because of another journalist.”

“What happened?”

“She was finally putting it behind her and getting her life together. She’d written the Werewolf play as part of her doctorate and was starring in the production. Such a talent! She was just about to get engaged too. You can see from the photos at the launch that she was glowing. Then she was interviewed by a journalist who did one-hour interviews for the Echo. He asked too many questions about how Alex’s murder influenced her to write the play. One week after it went to air, Electra was found floating in the lake at Woolley Wood. Drowning caused by hypothermia. The public didn’t join the dots but I did. And the journalist left immediately for a job up north.”

“How awful.”

“And before you ask, the interview is no longer on the Echo’s website for obvious reasons. I can send you a private link. But I warn you, Tiggy. It’s a hard listen when you know the outcome. Your punishment for dredging up this tragedy.”

While I wait for the link to land in my inbox, I search for any videos from Electra’s play.