“That stuck-up cow. Always thought she was better than me. Well, look what happened to her. Who’s better off now? And I’m sure you’re both aware you won’t be able to use what I just said as that machine’s off. Like I said, I know my rights. I’ll see myself out, if you don’t mind.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“What do you think?” Taylor asked Killian in the canteen.
“I think you need to work on your interview technique. You came across as rather aggressive in there.”
“Aggressive?” Taylor had left the interview room feeling quite pleased with herself. She thought she had done a good job.
“I don’t like the man much myself,” Killian said, “but there are ways to conduct an interview. You mustn’t let personal feelings get in the way.”
Taylor scowled.
“Don’t look so hard done by,” Killian added. “It was just an observation. I remember one of my first interviews. I got so frustrated with the suspect I ended up shouting at him that everyone knew he’d done it.”
“Do you think Sugden was involved?”
“It’s hard to tell. What do you think?”
“I don’t know. If he was, he’s a pretty good liar.”
“Well, right now all we’ve got is a pub full of people who don’t remember seeing Sugden there on Friday night, and the fact that he once made a play for the dead woman. Neither of which is enough to charge him with anything. We’ll have to wait and see if forensics can tie him to Milly Lancaster’s car.”
“So we just leave him alone?”
“We do the opposite. We’ll keep an even closer eye on him. If he’s hiding something, he’s bound to slip up sooner or later. They always do.”
“I wonder what went through her mind when she went over the cliff.”
“Don’t go there. Don’t even think about it. Our job is to figure out what happened in the hours before that happened.”
“Do you think her body will ever be found?”
“I doubt it. The tide will have taken her right out and ocean life will have done the rest.”
Taylor shivered. What a terrible way to end up, she thought.
A huge raindrop hit the window, breaking her horrid thoughts. It was followed by another and then the heavens opened up.
“Summer rain shower,” Killian said. “It’ll all be over in an hour. Let’s get going, anyway.”
“Where are we going?”
“It’s been an hour since we let Sugden go, so let’s do something useful while we wait to see what forensics can come up with. We’ll go and find out what makes Peter Sugden tick.”
* * *
The Old Boar was surprisingly full for a Tuesday afternoon. An equal number of tourists and locals were eating at tables or drinking at the bar. Killian propelled Harriet towards a man in his sixties having a pint in the corner by the bar.
“Dennis Albarn,” he whispered. “We’re in luck. Dennis and Peter Sugden go way back.” He sat down next to Albarn. “Dennis, can we have a word?”
Albarn shrugged. “Talk away,” he said. He looked Taylor up and down and smiled. “Things are definitely looking up. In my day, police women were all big hips and hairy legs.”
“Dennis and I are old acquaintances,” Killian said, “and I’m sure this won’t be the last time you meet him on your travels either.”
“I did my time.” Albarn looked at Harriet. “And I’m a changed man. What can I help you with? A drink, perhaps?”
“No thanks,” Taylor said. “We’d actually like to speak to you about Peter Sugden.”
“Scottish accent as well. It just gets better and better. What’s old Sugden done? Exposed himself to the dinner ladies at the school?”
“Excuse me?”
“It was a joke, love. Relax. Sugden’s a bit of a seed that’s all.”
“A seed?”
“Seedy. A bit of a perv, if you know what I mean. Everybody knows he’s harmless really. Hasn’t got it in him.”
“So you know Mr Sugden quite well?”
“Not that well.” Albarn finished the beer in his glass. “We exchange a few words when we’re in here. We both like the horses. What’s he done?”
“Nothing we’re aware of,” Killian said. “Were you in here last Friday night?”
“Probably.” Albarn frowned. He was lost in thought for a moment. “The old memory’s not what it was. I’ll have to check my diary for you.”
“This is serious,” Killian said. “Think.”
“Is this about Milly? What a terrible thing to happen.”
“Did you know Mrs Lancaster?” Taylor asked him.
“For over forty years. She was Alice’s best friend. I was the best man at Stanley and Alice’s wedding.”
“Were you in here on Friday night or not?” Killian sounded impatient.
“Guilty as charged,” Albarn said. “I’m in here most nights. I’m retired now. It’s not against the law, is it?”
“No, it isn’t. Can you remember if Peter Sugden was here?”
“Not as far as I can remember.” Albarn leaned across the bar.
“Another pint,” he said to the barman.
“Are you sure?” Killian said.
“Sugden wasn’t here.” Albarn handed the barman a five pound note. “The place was full of tourists, mostly. Poncey types asking for craft beers and mojitos and what-have-you.”
“What time were you here?” Taylor asked.
“Around six. I left about nine. I was supposed to meet Stan but he never showed up.”
“Stanley Green?” Taylor was surprised. “Alice’s husband? I thought he didn’t live here anymore.”
“He doesn’t, but he visits from time to time. I bumped into him in Trotterdown last Wednesday. He’s been living in Spain for a few years. Lucky bugger.”
“So Sugden definitely didn’t come in last Friday night?” Killian repeated.
“No. Why are you so interested in old Sugden?”
“Just curious,” Killian said. “Thank you for your help.”
“You know me, Jack. Always happy to help the police.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The sun and the moon were in the sky together for a brief moment and then the sun disappeared behind the distant sea. The wind had picked up and the hollyhock bushes in Alice Green’s back garden were swaying in the cool breeze. She looked over the hedge into the Sedgwicks’ garden. The lights were on in the house, but Alice knew Eddie and Barbara were not at home. Eddie had told her they were going to watch a film in Trotterdown. She knew they would be gone for a good few hours but she still wanted to get what she was about to do over with as quickly as possible.
She got to work with her green shovel, digging up the soil under the hollyhocks. She carefully removed the earth around her husband’s body, making sure not to dig too close to the corpse. It was hard work. After twenty minutes, Alice had only managed to dig a small hole. She wiped the sweat from her brow and carried on.
Two hours later, Stanley’s body was lying on the grass. Alice had managed to drag him from under the bushes, but it had used up most of her energy. She looked at the dead body of the man she had married forty years ago. The skin on his face was grey in the moonlight. One of his eyes was missing. Where his ring finger had been was now just a black stump.
It had taken a huge amount of effort to drag the body the few metres from the bushes, and there was no way she was going to be able to get him to the road to where she’d parked her van. There was only one thing for it, even though the very idea made her want to vomit. She was running out of time and she couldn’t leave the body lying on her back lawn. She went to the shed and grabbed her wheelbarrow and two industrial-strength refuse bags.