Luke Sadler was sitting quietly in the corner of the Benugo coffee shop in Wigmore Street. Thinking he might have to pay off some of Daniel’s debts in person, he had risen early that morning and took the tube into Central London. Making use of the free Wi-Fi in the shop, he had already made good progress in settling the accounts of the numerous organisations and individuals asking Daniel for their money back. Some of the bank transfers had amounted to some tidy sums, but he was now trawling through the various friends and acquaintances where the debts were more modest.
It was a late Saturday morning and he calculated that he still had thirty minutes or so before the normal lunchtime stampede for snacks and takeaways. As it was, he was appreciating the calmer atmosphere in the shop, giving him time to focus. He was familiar with some of the names that cropped up in Daniel’s phone: people he had been introduced to at various times when he and Daniel had met up on social occasions. There was one name in particular that he knew quite well… John Cameron. It seemed that Daniel still owed him thirty pounds. As he recalled, he lived on the same street as Daniel.
Luke dialled the number. It rang only once before it was answered by an excited voice. ‘Hello, Daniel. Am I glad to hear from you!’
Luke let him down gently. ‘Sorry to disappoint you, John, but it’s Luke, his cousin.’
Now there was a trace of alarm in the voice. ‘Has something happened to Daniel?’
Luke was quick to reassure him. ‘No, nothing like that, Daniel’s perfectly fine.’
There was an audible sigh of relief. ‘Thank God for that! I have been really worried about him. Lauren has been asking me if I knew where he was.’
‘The truth is, John, he did hit a bit of trouble, but it’s all sorted now. He will probably tell you everything in his own good time.’
‘Give him my best. I’m so glad to hear he is still in one piece. Last week there were these two men asking after him and they looked like they could do a bit of damage.’
Now it was Luke’s turn to sound interested. ‘You saw them?’
‘Yes, they approached me outside the pub last week. I didn’t like the look of them so I played it dumb. The next thing I hear is Lauren telling me he’s done a runner. I thought it best not to tell her about the two men; she sounded pretty frantic as it was.’
Luke was relieved to hear that. The situation was stressful enough for her as it was. He asked, ‘That was the only time you have seen them?’
John Cameron thought back to the two menacing individuals. ‘Yes, hopefully it will be the one and only time.’
Luke changed the subject. ‘Anyway, I have some good news for you. I believe that Daniel owed you thirty quid.’
‘That’s right, but I’m not waiting on it. I’m just glad he’s OK.’
‘Well, Daniel wants to get it back to you. Give us your bank details and it’ll be there in a jiffy.’
There was some token resistance before John Cameron obliged and Luke completed the transfer. Soon after finishing the call, Luke noticed the coffee shop was starting to get busy. He scanned Daniel’s phone one more time. There were just a couple of names remaining to be contacted. The time in the shop had been very productive, but now it was time to leave.
*
The sun was shining brightly in Tregarris, and though the air was crisp, there was still a degree of warmth in the late autumn sunshine. Gazing out at the sweeping view of the Cornish coastline, Reg Turner took in a lungful of fresh air, as his dog Rusty ran on ahead of him. It was on glorious days like this that he would not have wanted to have been anywhere else in the world. He was making his way back across the fields towards the Norman church, with his golden retriever leading the way. He had now been the proprietor of the Jolly Pirate for the best part of ten years, but he never tired of the views and the Cornish way of life. Moving down to Tregarris from Bournemouth had been the best move he had ever made. It was just a shame that Dorothy had never felt the same way. Even before the illness that so tragically took her away, she had never settled… God bless her.
He passed through the churchyard and started making his way down the steep path that led to the village. He had momentarily lost sight of Rusty, but that was not unusual, as he would often disappear into the various nooks and crannies that were so familiar to him. Halfway down the path, Reg heard a rustling in the bushes to his right. Unusually he had to call out Rusty’s name more than once, before the retriever eventually emerged from the bush with something clasped tightly in his jaws. Initially, Reg had some trouble prising the object out of Rusty’s mouth. It looked to be the tatty burnt remains of what appeared to be a satchel. On closer examination, he could just detect a hint of red colouring on one of the scorched straps. Reg suddenly gave a small gasp of comprehension. It looked like his dog had found Duncan Fraser’s missing rucksack.
*
Daniel Felton strode out purposefully along the coastal path. The sun was shining brightly, and the sea and sky were giving a vivid blue backdrop to the small coves and hidden beaches he was discovering along the way. He had been walking for just over an hour in a westerly direction and had now reached Trewavas Head. He decided it was a good point to have a rest and take in the view. He sat down on a rocky boulder that looked out over a blue and infinite sea. He was feeling better already. He reached into his holdall and pulled out a bottle of water and a Mars bar. He was glad he had made the decision to have a good walk, rather than stay back in the cottage viewing more breakfast TV.
Disappointingly, he had endured another restless night. Not only had his earlier conversation with Lauren left him in a state of eager anticipation of what was to come, but also the bell had rung once again in the early hours. This time he had not gone to the window when the bell sounded. Instead he had chosen to ignore it and buried his head under the bedclothes. Thinking back to it now, he was not totally sure why. At the time he had justified his inaction by thinking he would not give young Carlyon the satisfaction. But being honest with himself, he was still disturbed by the recollection of the misty image that had formed a couple of nights before. Luke pointing out the creepy coincidence with the stopped grandfather clock had certainly not helped. If, as it was beginning to look like, the nocturnal prankster really was Ricky Carlyon, what was so significant about three o’clock in the morning? He looked out onto the coastline and his thoughts went once more to Lauren. He could hardly wait to share this coastline with her. The thought of it made him feel happy.
*
‘It looks like it was about here.’ Jack Wilkins was down on his haunches examining the blackened patch of grass where a fire had once burned. He and Sandra Kent had not wasted much time in getting to Tregarris, after the phone call from the publican of the Jolly Pirate. Reg Turner had shown them the spot where Rusty had emerged with the burnt rucksack, and they had now squeezed through the bush into a small clearing on the other side.
Kent was holding a forensic bag containing what appeared to be the charred remains of Duncan Fraser’s rucksack. Her eyes were keenly scanning the ground surrounding the area. ‘It looks like there might be some good footprints for crime scene to examine.’
Jack Wilkins nodded. ‘I think we should get the boys out here right away.’ He radioed in to headquarters and requested some forensic officers.
Sandra pointed to a couple of cigarette stubs lying nearby. ‘Be interesting to know whether the DNA matches the stubs found on the coastal path.’
Wilkins looked at them with interest. ‘It would go some way to confirming that our man is a torturer if they do.’ He pointed to the bag in Sandra’s hand containing the blackened rucksack. ‘I think it could be the right time to take up your suggestion and get out a reward. I reckon a sum of about five thousand would do it.’
Sandra looked pleased. ‘Let’s see if we can squeeze that pip.’
*
Martin Everett turned up the volume on his car radio. ‘Wonderwall’ by Oasis had always been one of his favourites. He could not help emitting a sigh. Now in his early forties, he was at the stage where he was beginning to lament the passing of his youth. Had the Britpop phenomenon really been over twenty years ago? Time was passing far too quickly for his liking.
He was on his way to the Helston HQ in Godolphin Street, after being informed about the discovery of the remains of the missing rucksack. The fact it was found in Tregarris was significant; potentially it seemed to narrow the field. It looked highly likely they were looking for someone living in or around the village. In theory, this still did not rule out young Felton. He knew that Wilkins and PC Kent were not convinced, but he still felt there was something about the young Londoner’s story that did not quite add up.
He turned the car into Market Place. It was a fine Saturday afternoon in Helston, and there were a fair number of local shoppers who had been tempted outside by the sunny autumn weather. As he slowed to allow some pedestrians to cross the road, he let out a gasp of recognition. He was sure the familiar figure passing in front of him was one of his old senior constables from his days in the Met. More mature and portly than he remembered, but he was sure it was definitely him. What was his name? Mark… Ross… Reece… Reid. That was it, Mark Reid. He quickly pulled over and wound down the driver’s window. ‘Mark Reid?’
Mark Reid could not help recoiling in surprise. He had not long booked into the Strathallan Guest House after arriving just after midday. Now stretching his legs after the long journey down from London, he had been enjoying a leisurely stroll around the town streets. The last person he would have expected to bump into was one of his old colleagues from his days in the Met. He recognised Martin Everett immediately. He had been one of the eager young constables he had taken under his wing back in the nineties. He approached the car window. ‘I don’t believe it! Martin Everett, if I’m not mistaken?’
Everett looked delighted. ‘It’s been a long time. What are you doing here?’
‘Just taking a few days’ break.’
Everett remembered he’d been married. ‘Where’s the trouble and strife?’
Reid adopted a pained expression. ‘Oh, it’s a long story. The bottom line is we’re no longer together.’
Everett had a distant memory of Reid once proudly introducing his wife on one occasion. He remembered her being a cheerful sort. ‘I’m sorry to hear that, Mark.’
Reid shrugged. ‘These things happen.’
‘Are you still working?’
Reid looked a bit defensive. ‘I took an early retirement from the force.’ He saw a look of surprise flash across Everett’s face. He added quickly, ‘I still keep my hand in with some private work.’
Everett found it hard to keep the disappointment out of his voice. ‘You are a private investigator?’
Reid tried to sound upbeat. ‘It keeps me ticking over.’
Everett handed over a card with his contact details. ‘Well, all I can say is the Met is all the poorer for losing good men like you. You taught me a lot, Mark. Be great to catch up over a pint if you get the time.’
Reid looked at the card. ‘I’ll do that.’
Everett gave a genial wave and drove away.
*
Daniel Felton had a good feeling as he walked back towards the cottage. The combination of a walk in the fine weather and the thought of seeing Lauren had engendered that feel-good factor. Remembering that his food supplies were running a little low, he decided to walk on through the village towards the convenience store. As he passed the entrance to the lane that led up to the churchyard, he caught a glimpse of Ricky Carlyon talking to two other people. It had only been a brief glance, but he was sure one of them had been a girl. He could not be sure if the other one was the youth he had seen arguing with Carlyon in the lane a few days before. He thought no more of it, but on his way back from the store he was certain that he recognised the same girl standing outside the Jolly Pirate, looking straight at him. Something about her expression made him feel distinctly uncomfortable. There was no sign of Carlyon. After walking on some distance, he took a peek back over his shoulder. There she was: still standing there, staring.
*
‘We think we should pitch it at about £5,000,’ Jack Wilkins suggested to DI Everett as he glanced across to Sandra Kent for support.
Everett waved him away with a dismissive hand. ‘Far too high, the powers that be would never go for it – £2,500 is a more realistic number.’
They were all assembled in the police station discussing the implications of the discovered rucksack.
Sandra sounded a bit disappointed. ‘Well, either way, I think it’s a good time to launch it.’
Everett nodded in agreement. ‘That’s a useful sum of money, should be more than enough to tempt someone.’
Wilkins smiled. ‘Poor old Rusty didn’t even get a bone.’
Everett gave a chuckle and sat down at his desk. ‘It was a lucky break, him finding it, that’s for sure.’ He had a good feeling that they were closing in. ‘Whoever burnt that rucksack is gonna feel pretty uncomfortable when the news of its discovery gets out there.’
Wilkins thought of the cigarette stubs. ‘We should get the results from forensic anytime. If the DNA on the stubs matches those found near Fraser’s body, we’ll know a lot more about the nature of the beast we’re after.’
Everett almost looked pleased. ‘It will mean we probably have a sadistic torturer on our hands.’
Sandra pulled a face but decided not to comment.
Everett motioned as if he was winding in a fish. ‘Get the reward notices out as quickly as possible – I think I am going to enjoy reeling in this whopper.’
Sandra Kent answered, ‘I’ll get on it right away, sir.’
Thirty minutes later, the results from the forensic report were on Everett’s desk. After a few minutes’ scrutiny, he looked up. ‘Well, that confirms it. We are looking for a sadistic torturer who smokes like a chimney.’
Wilkins commented, ‘That could go some way in narrowing down the search. Nowadays a heavy smoker tends to attract more attention than once was the case.’
Everett studied the report closely. ‘Unfortunately the footprints found around the burnt ground were not distinctive enough. Let’s think about this. There is no record of this DNA on our database. Yet whoever did this is one nasty piece of work. What does that suggest to you, Jack?’
‘Either someone who has offended before but up to now has never been lifted, or someone just starting out, someone fairly young.’
‘Exactly. I think we can narrow the search down to someone who is a chain smoker, probably a young man living in the area.’
‘We’ll make a start drilling down into the local community.’
‘Good man.’ Martin Everett looked at his watch. ‘Fancy a pint in the Anchor on the way home tonight, Jack?’
The Blue Anchor in Coinagehall Street served real ale and was one of Everett’s favourite watering holes. It was not unknown for him to offer the occasional invite to his Sergeant when the mood was upon him.
Jack Wilkins hesitated for a brief second before answering, ‘Oh, go on then.’
*
Mark Reid was well into his second pint of Spingo. The landlord had sold it to him as one of the oldest real ales in Cornwall, and he was enjoying every drop. He looked around his surroundings approvingly. The Blue Anchor was an old medieval inn, just around the corner from the Strathallan Guest House. Now sitting in its cosy bar in front of an open fire, he was feeling he had made the correct decision in entering its ancient interior. He had already decided to put off his visit to Tregarris until the morning. As far as he was concerned the whereabouts of Daniel Felton could wait a little longer.
He thought back to his encounter with Martin Everett earlier that day. Seeing him after all these years had given him a bit of a jolt. It took him back to a happier time when his life seemed to have more meaning and purpose. He remembered Everett as being one of his brightest young constables, and almost from day one they had formed a mutual respect. He recalled, with regret, the flicker of disappointment he had seen pass across Everett’s face when he had told him he was now doing private work. The thought that he had gone down in the estimation of a former colleague made him feel ashamed. It was also a painful reminder of just how far his life had dipped since those halcyon days.
After glancing at his watch, he hurriedly finished off his pint. He was booked for an evening meal in the Strathallan and he was feeling hungry. He rose from his seat and walked through the narrow corridor that led out onto the street. It was then that he bumped right into Martin Everett and Jack Wilkins entering the inn.
Everett again looked delighted to see him. ‘Twice in one day, Mark. I think someone’s trying to tell us something.’
Reid had again been caught by surprise, but he quickly regained his composure. ‘Hi, Martin, it’s good to see you again.’
Everett gestured towards the inn interior. ‘Been sampling the local ales?’
Reid smiled. ‘I can recommend the Spingo, that’s for sure.’
Everett laughed. ‘You are preaching to the converted, my friend. Can you stay for another?’
Reid put his hands up in apology. ‘Sorry, Martin, I’m booked for a meal at the Strathallan.’
Everett looked disappointed. ‘Shame, another time, perhaps.’ He introduced him to his sergeant before adding, ‘This man was one of the Metropolitan’s finest, Jack.’
Wilkins could sense the warmth that still existed between the two men. ‘Pleased to meet you, Mark.’
Reid held out a hand. ‘Hope he is treating you well, Sarge, I taught him everything he knows so you can blame me.’
‘I’ve no complaints – well, none that I can say in front of him,’ Wilkins replied.
Everett pulled an expression of mock indignation. ‘I take it you still want that pint, Jack?’ He turned back to Reid. ‘Remember, Mark, you have my number.’
‘Don’t worry, I won’t forget.’
Everett watched Reid walk away. He looked a lot shabbier than he remembered. Age and the divorce had obviously taken its toll. He now looked every inch the archetypal private eye. A thought suddenly occurred to him. Could it be that he was not really on holiday and that he was down here in Cornwall on a job? It was to be this intriguing possibility that occupied his thoughts as he buried his nose into his first pint of Spingo.
*
Mark Reid stood looking down the hill that led into Tregarris. He had been grateful to find a small space to park his car at the entrance to the village. With his eyes keenly taking in every detail, he started to make his way down the hill. Considering it was out of season and fast approaching Sunday lunchtime, there seemed to be plenty of people milling about the place. He was surprised to see a young policewoman on the other side of the street that appeared to be conducting an enquiry. Was it his imagination or did he detect a slight buzz of excitement about the place? He got his answer when he stopped and studied a police poster. In bold print, it was offering a financial reward for information regarding the murder of a man found dead on the coastal path. Reid shook his head in wonder; clearly there was more that went on in Cornish villages than he imagined. He nodded genially to a young man standing outside the Jolly Pirate who was drawing deeply on a cigarette. He guessed he was a member of the kitchen staff, as he was wearing a black and white checked apron. His friendly gesture was greeted with a scowl and barely acknowledged. Reid made a mental note: not all the natives were necessarily amicable.
He had studied the village on Google Maps, so he was familiar with the layout and already knew the location of the Chough cottage. He walked on to the end of the street and made his way to the coastal path. He soon came to the cottage on his left-hand side. There was a white Fiat parked outside. He felt ninety-nine per cent sure that he had found Daniel Felton’s bolthole. It only remained for him to get a positive sighting. Fortuitously, he did not have to wait too long. As if he had mentally summoned him up, there was Daniel approaching him from the direction of the coastal path. Despite the fact that he was wearing a parka with the collar pulled up, Reid recognised him almost immediately. Daniel barely gave Reid a glance as he bid him good morning and walked on past the cottage and into the village. Reid turned and followed at a discreet distance as he watched him stop and enter the Jolly Pirate. Reid allowed himself a smirk of satisfaction. His hunch had paid off and he had found his prey; he just needed the final confirmation that Daniel was staying in Chough cottage.
*
‘Pint of Tribute, Reg.’ It was just approaching twelve o’clock on the Sunday lunchtime and the Jolly Pirate was practically empty as the staff prepared themselves for the traditional midday rush. Daniel had just returned from his invigorating coastal walk and felt he had earned his pint.
Reg took his time as he pulled at the pump with practised expertise. He looked pleased to see Daniel. ‘You’re my first customer today, Mr Felton.’
Danny raised his glass and took a long swill of the refreshing beer. ‘It’s lively but delicious,’ he said appreciatively, before wiping the white foam from his lips.
Reg leaned his elbows on the bar. ‘Did you hear about how clever Rusty was yesterday?’
Daniel looked blank. ‘No, have I missed something?’
‘Were you not in here last night? Everyone was talking about it.’
‘No, I decided to have a quiet night in with the TV. Why, what have I missed?’
‘Only the tale of Rusty and the rucksack, that’s all. We were out on our walk yesterday and Rusty went and found the murdered man’s rucksack.’
Daniel remembered catching a glimpse of PC Kent on the high street as he had entered the pub: this would explain it. ‘Really, whereabouts did he find it?’
‘It was behind a hedge in the lane that leads up to the church.’
‘Who has it now?’
‘The police have got it. It was in a right state. It looked like whoever it was tried to burn the evidence.’
Something stirred vaguely in Daniel’s memory but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He grinned. ‘Good old Rusty. Does he get a reward?’
‘Unfortunately not, though funnily enough there is now a reward of £2,500 for anyone who can name the guilty party. Did you not see the posters outside?’
‘No, I must have had my beer glasses on. By the time I got to the end of my walk, I only had eyes for one of your foaming pints.’ Daniel whistled softly. ‘Two and a half grand is a tidy sum.’
Reg looked a little excited. ‘I will have to get my thinking cap on.’
Daniel laughed. ‘Have you got a deerstalker?’
Reg grinned back. ‘You can be my Watson.’
Talk of mysteries brought a sudden thought to Daniel. He signalled for the landlord to come closer. ‘Changing the subject completely, Reg, was there anything strange about old Tom’s death?’
Reg’s face turned serious. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘Well, the other night one of his old mates went to say something and the other one firmly stopped him in his tracks.’
A knowing grin passed across Reg’s face. ‘Oh, that’d be about the Black Dragon’s bell.’
Daniel wanted to know more. ‘The old pirate ship, what about it?’
‘Well, Bill and Alf are convinced that Tom was killed by the old pirate Red Robbo. According to them, Tom was being bothered by the bell being rung in the early hours.’
Daniel again felt the hairs on his neck start to rise.
Reg went on. ‘Tom lived in the real world and didn’t believe a word of the old seaman’s yarn. He told them he was going to confront whoever was ringing the bell the next time it happened. Next thing they know, Tom is found dead in his doorway one morning, struck down by a massive heart attack. I’ve tried to tell them it was natural causes, but they won’t hear anything different. As far as they’re concerned, Red Robbo and the crew of the Black Dragon returned in the night and slaughtered old Tom.’
Daniel felt distinctly uncomfortable. ‘You have to admit, it’s a grisly tale.’
Reg nodded. ‘And that’s all it is. But Bill and Alf, they just love a ghost story and they’ve convinced themselves it’s true.’
There was a brief moment when Daniel thought of telling Reg of his own experiences with the bell, but then thought better of it. What would be the point? Reg would probably think he was going mad. Besides, it was bound to be young Ricky Carlyon playing tricks.
Instead he finished his pint and said, ‘Have another pint with me, Reg, we’ll drink to Old Tom and Rusty.’
Reg looked more than grateful. ‘Don’t mind if I do, young Daniel, don’t mind if I do.’