Blood Falls (16 page)

‘Isn’t that only because the newspapers tell them so?’

Giles chuckled, as though accepting a compliment. ‘Quite. Absolutely. Whereas Trelennan, as portrayed by
moi
, will seem like Shangri-La. Of course, you and I know it has its downsides. Atrocious food. No theatres or museums, no bloody nightlife at all. That’s why I’m slumming it in this … in here.’

‘But you don’t you think that, beneath the surface, Trelennan has exactly the same problems and inequalities as anywhere else?’

‘Not part of my brief. This is about one strong individual providing something that’s proved to be beyond the wit of the public sector.
Precisely what our readers want to hear.’ He grunted. ‘And, rather more importantly, what our
proprietor
wants our readers to hear.’

Joe smiled. ‘Sounds like the story was already written before you came here.’

Giles stared at him for a long time, as though he was deciding whether to take offence. Finally he nodded. ‘Truth is, it could have been, but I don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Three days on full expenses. Besides, I’m on the lookout for a holiday home. Just sold a place in Italy and quite fancy a bolt-hole down this way.’

Twenty-Eight

JOE WOKE THE
next morning to the sound of heavy rain drumming on the roof. He listened to it as he thought about Diana and her new boyfriend, Leon Race and Derek Cadwell, Ellie Kipling and Alise and her missing sister. It had been an eventful first day; not at all what he’d have wished for.

So leave right now
. He could do it. Retrace his route to Bristol, maybe hitching rides to save on rail fare. Scope out Lindsey Bevan’s home to make sure it wasn’t under observation, then retrieve his belongings and get out of there. He could go anywhere. Forget all about Trelennan, Diana, Ellie, Alise …

His idle speculation ceased when he realised he was smiling.
Who am I kidding?

He had no intention of leaving. It simply wasn’t in his nature to walk away from a challenge. He knew he possessed the skills to help Alise with her search, and it wasn’t just guilt that compelled him to offer his services. For his own sake, he wanted to find out what had happened to Kamila.

And then there was Diana, and the impression he had that she was concealing something from him. Something that made her profoundly unhappy. Something that frightened her.

* * *

Last night Joe had endured Giles’s company while he gulped down another pint, and then only because he wanted the journalist to buy a round. When he got up to leave, Giles looked bereft.

‘Don’t say you’re baling out on me …’

‘Sorry,’ Joe said, though he wasn’t. ‘See you later.’

‘You won’t, actually. I’m leaving tomorrow.’

‘Oh. Good.’ The response was automatic, and earned a baffled stare from Giles.

Joe had returned to the B&B, feeling as apprehensive as a teenager who fears he’ll stumble upon his parents having sex. It was a huge relief to discover that Glenn and Diana had gone out.

He’d been asleep by ten and hadn’t heard Diana come in. Now, slipping from his bed at seven o’clock, he wondered if he still had the house to himself.

He showered, dressed in the clothes she had bought him, and went downstairs. The kitchen was deserted, but Diana’s handbag was sitting on the counter.

He started up the coffee maker and ate a bowl of cereal. He was slotting bread into the toaster when Diana padded in, sleepy-eyed and wrapped up in a thick robe. She gazed at the rain streaming down the glass and tutted. ‘This weather.’

‘I know. I considered a run and quickly changed my mind. Coffee?’

‘Please. How was the pub?’

‘Not bad.’ He told her about Giles Quinton-Price and the article he was writing.

‘Glenn mentioned that. He says Leon’s delighted by it.’

‘Really?’ Joe remembered Giles’s less than flattering description of Leon. ‘What does he hope it’ll achieve?’

‘A better public profile, I suppose. He grew up on the Trelawny estate, on the way into town. It’s nowhere near as bad now, but twenty, thirty years ago it was a hellhole, apparently. Huge problems with
crime, drug abuse, kids running amok. He’s done well to get out, and he wants everybody to know it.’

‘Fair enough. Uh, I thought I would accept his offer,’ Joe said. ‘Give it a week or so. If you’re okay with that?’

She sighed. ‘Is that wise?’

‘I don’t honestly know,’ he admitted. ‘A calculated risk.’

‘Mmm.’ Diana nodded, looking pensive, but he knew she wasn’t going to voice her objections. The silence that followed was comfortable enough for Joe to take a bold step.

‘What did Roy think of Leon Race?’

The question made Diana flinch. She got up and walked across the room, one hand up over her face.

‘They didn’t have a lot to do with each other.’ She opened the fridge, took out a pot of yogurt and turned back to him, having regained her composure. ‘Hardly anything, in fact.’

‘And what about Glenn?’

Diana pondered the question while peeling the foil lid off the pot. ‘We don’t tend to discuss his work. I suppose Glenn looks up to him. Say what you like about Leon, you can’t dispute that he’s made a success of himself.’

‘And he’s a big fish in a small pond.’

‘Yes. I hadn’t thought of it in that way.’

As she opened the cutlery drawer to get a spoon, Joe was sure he heard her murmur: ‘A shark.’

By the time Joe left, at just after eight o’clock, the rain had eased to a light drizzle. He took a meandering route into town, exploring some of the narrow lanes and alleys that ran crossways to the High Street. In one, a couple of blocks up from the seafront, he found Derek Cadwell’s funeral parlour.

It was housed in a modest two-storey building with blinds in the windows and only a few discreet posters advertising its services. There
was a gated yard at the side, with a hearse and another Daimler limousine parked beside a single-storey adjoining building that might once have been a blacksmith’s forge. There was no sign of anyone; probably still too early.

In the High Street, Joe passed a council truck clearing leaves from the gutters. There was a pleasant buzz of activity as the town came alive: shutters opening, stalls being set out on the pavement; enticing smells wafting from the bakery, which was already doing a brisk trade. Made it feel like a nice place to live and work.

It was ten to nine when he reached Leon’s property. He pressed the button on the intercom. After a few seconds he heard a click, and the gate unlocked.

The front door opened as he ambled across the drive. He was greeted by the young man he’d seen outside the B&B yesterday morning, kicking at Diana’s pampas grass while he smoked. Today he was in an LRS uniform, but looked no less surly or hostile.

‘You’re Carter, are you?’

Joe nodded. ‘Can I see Leon?’

‘He’s not here. You got a message for him?’

‘Tell him I accept,’ Joe said. ‘Providing the money’s right.’

The man raised his eyebrows. ‘It’ll be what it is,’ he said, and slammed the door.

Joe felt deflated. He’d envisaged agreeing the terms and possibly even starting work right away. Now at a loose end, he decided to find Alise and discuss how to approach her sister’s former boyfriend.

His first stop was the cafe, but the only customers were a group of builders. Joe sent Alise a text as he returned to the High Street: Are you free to meet today?

The library was open, but there was a different woman behind the counter. Joe was chiding himself for feeling disappointed when a gently mocking voice said, ‘Not you again.’

Ellie was heading towards him, her arms fully stretched to support the tower of books propped beneath her chin.

‘Can I help with those?’ he asked.

‘I’m stronger than I look. And I have a reckless disregard for my personal safety.’

Joe followed her over to a display of large-print titles. She eased the books deftly onto a table and began adding them to the shelf.

‘Have you seen Alise this morning?’ he said.

‘No. Why?’

‘I ran into her yesterday. She told me about her sister.’

Ellie studied him carefully. ‘You know she’s far too young for you?’

‘Jesus. Do you really think that’s—’

‘No.’ She held up her hands. ‘I was only teasing. But it sounds like she’s ensnared you.’

‘I feel sorry for her, sure. She’s got no one else on her side.’

Ellie said nothing. Obviously she didn’t dispute his assessment.

‘Don’t suppose you know where she lives?’ he asked.

‘No idea.’ She turned away from him, arranging the books with small, efficient movements. A hint of her fragrance drifted into his range, and made him want to step closer. After a moment, she said, ‘Did you check out the Shell Cavern?’

‘I went up there. I didn’t actually go into the cave.’

Playfully, she clicked her tongue. ‘So you
do
need somebody to hold your hand. What have you got planned this afternoon?’

‘Not a lot,’ Joe said before he had time to consider. ‘Are you asking me out?’

‘Don’t get ahead of yourself. I’m simply offering to be your tour guide.’ Ellie turned, held his gaze for a second, her eyes dark and unreadable. ‘Meet me here at two o’clock.’

Outside, Joe checked for messages, then tried ringing Alise but got the ‘call failed’ message. He had to zigzag up and down the street,
chasing the phone signal as it danced in and out of range. Finally he had it, only to discover that Alise’s phone was switched off.

Back to the cafe. He was gazing through the window like some forlorn character out of Dickens, trying to decide if he could afford a coffee, when a noise caught his attention. A trim silver-haired man in a dark grey suit was setting up an A-frame pavement sign for the Halcyon Gallery.

He made sure the sign was positioned correctly, then gave Joe a quick, furtive glance. Joe started towards him.

‘Morning. Are you Patrick Davy, by any chance?’

The man nodded, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. He was about sixty, a few inches shorter than Joe, tanned and good-looking, with pale blue eyes.

‘My name’s Joe. Alise Briedis suggested I talk to you.’

The mention of her name didn’t have the effect Joe intended. If anything, Davy grew more defensive.

‘Did she now? What about?’ He spoke with a soft Australian accent, but he sounded just as hostile as everyone else Joe had encountered in Trelennan.

‘She told me that you own the gallery. Mind if I have a look round?’

Davy shrugged. ‘It’s open for business. You can do what you like.’

He turned and went inside, leaving Joe shaking his head in despair.
This town
…

The gallery was housed in a large, airy structure that had probably once been a barn, or maybe a granary. There was a mezzanine floor and three big skylights at the front that poured natural light into the building. The exhibits of many different artists were displayed: a range of paintings, photography, ceramics and glassware, in styles that ranged from cute and corny to unsettlingly experimental.

Davy made for the counter by the door, slipped off his jacket and slung it over a stool. He was wearing a white cotton shirt that couldn’t
disguise a lean and muscular physique. A dedicated swimmer, perhaps, Joe thought.

The Australian picked up a stack of mail, pulling faces as he divided the envelopes into three piles. ‘Bills, bullshit and miscellaneous,’ he muttered to himself. Then he sighed. ‘So what is it Alise has been saying?’

‘Your name came up in connection with Derek Cadwell.’

‘Aha. Not one of Alise’s favourite people. Not one of mine, either.’ Davy flashed Joe a quizzical look, as if to say:
And where do you stand?

‘From what I’ve seen, he’s a creep. And I’ve only been here two days.’

That earned him another careful appraisal. ‘You knew Alise from before?’

‘No.’

‘But she told you about her sister?’

‘Kamila. Yes. I’m trying to help her.’

Davy’s face went from suspicious to scornful, as if nobody could be that gullible.

‘You know what Alise does for a living?’

Joe frowned. ‘She’s an actuary. But what’s that got to do with—’

‘And her boyfriend’s name?’

‘She did mention it, but I don’t recall. Anyway, she dumped him because he wasn’t being supportive. Said he was a prick.’

Davy laughed. ‘Yeah. That’s what she told me.’

‘So why the twenty questions?’

Tossing the last couple of letters aside, Davy reached beneath the counter and came up brandishing a cricket bat. He wielded it, sword-like, in both hands, and took delight in the surprise on Joe’s face.

‘These days I believe in a cautious approach,’ he said. ‘The bastards tried brute force and it didn’t work. I figure maybe next time they’ll try something more subtle. Send in some bloke, pretending to be friendly …’

Joe nodded. ‘So you are having trouble with Derek Cadwell?’

‘Oh yeah. Him and his buddies. Leon Race being one of them.’

‘You said they tried brute force. What did they do?’

Davy put the bat down and beckoned Joe closer. He bent forward and carefully parted his hair just above the crown, revealing a thick, bumpy line of scar tissue.

‘Split my skull open.’ He pulled his collar away from his neck to reveal several more scars in a pattern like raking fingernails. ‘Came up behind me, smashed a bottle over my head, then swiped me with it as I fell.’

Joe whistled. ‘That was Leon’s men?’

‘Yep. Couldn’t prove it, of course.’ Davy checked his watch. ‘Tell you what, I’ll hold off opening for another ten minutes and you can hear the full story.’ His eyes twinkled. ‘If you’re really serious about helping Alise, you’d better bloody know what you’re up against.’

Twenty-Nine

DAVY BROUGHT THE
sign back in and locked up. At the rear of the gallery there was a private area with a stockroom, toilet facilities and a small kitchenette.

‘I used to have a tea room on the mezzanine,’ Davy told Joe as he filled an ancient kettle. ‘Fantastic views up there. Real hit with the tourists. It was run by the sister-in-law of the lady who owns the cafe along there. They had this friendly rivalry, you know? Who can make the best carrot cake …’