“First an old lady gets pushed over the cliff in her car and then an old man ends up in the nets of a fishing boat. Do you think the two are connected?”
“Not at the moment. As far as I’m concerned, it’s just a coincidence.” He turned the car right and headed inland.
“Where are you going? The station’s in the other direction.”
“Slight change of plan. I’m getting tired of twiddling my thumbs waiting to see what forensics can come up with. Those guys tend to work much quicker when they have someone breathing down their necks. I want to know if our friend Peter Sugden can be linked in any way to Milly Lancaster’s car.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Alice carefully removed the frame from the hive and examined it closely. She'd made sure to wear gloves this time. When she’d first started beekeeping, she used to wear a full protective suit and hood, but over time she'd realised that her nice Italian bees made this unnecessary. Also the bees got used to you, in a way. But the bees had hardly produced any honey since the last time she’d checked. She couldn’t understand what the problem was, after they’d been performing so beautifully for the past month. She shrugged and slid the frame back into position.
Maybe I need to buy more hives.
She looked around the garden. There was plenty of space for a few more hives and she could always plant some more hollyhock bushes. The bees seemed to like the hollyhocks best.
Alice made a cup of tea and sat down at the kitchen table. There was a letter she needed to write. Stanley had a sister, Rita, in Canada who Alice wrote to every month. Rita had tried to persuade Alice to buy a computer and get Skype, but Alice wasn’t going to start messing with things like that at her age.
There was a lot of news this month. Alice began with the tragic death of her old friend Milly. She explained that the police didn’t know what had happened but that she was sure they would get to the bottom of it. She didn’t mention Stanley’s demise.
She looked in the kitchen drawer for a stamp and remembered she’d used the last one on the previous letter. She sighed and picked up her handbag. She would have to go to the village post office.
The sun on her face made her smile. June was definitely the best time of the year in Cornwall. She walked past where Milly used to park her car and intense sadness hit her. Milly had been her only real friend and she was gone.
A police car was parked outside Peter Sugden’s house. Alice had never liked Sugden. And he’d been after Milly. Nasty piece of work.
The police car was still there as she came back from the post office. Alice slowed down and tried to peer into Sugden’s house. She could see two policemen in uniform. They were opening cupboards and drawers in the living room, looking for something. She looked at her watch. Half past twelve.
She went into the Old Boar. “Small port, love,” she said to the young barman and took it to the window, where she could get a good view of Peter Sugden’s house. After a few minutes, the two policemen came out with Sugden. He didn’t look pleased at all. Alice watched as he locked his front door and got in the back of the police car.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Taylor, Killian and DS Duncan sat in the station canteen. Peter Sugden was in one of the holding cells next to the interview rooms. They were waiting for Sugden’s solicitor to arrive from Plymouth. The forensics people had stumbled upon something interesting, though more by chance than anything else.
Inside the lock on the passenger side of Milly Lancaster’s car, they had found some small slivers of a different metaclass="underline" a mix of nickel and chromium. Alan Littlemore, the head of forensics, was of the opinion that the metal came from some kind of tool — a screwdriver maybe — which had been used to jam the lock. PCs White and White had been granted permission to search Peter Sugden’s house and Eric White had discovered a screwdriver made of the same metal in the wheelie bin in his back garden. It was still in working order, apart from some slight wear on the tip, and it was now in the hands of the forensics department.
“Looks like we’ve got the bastard.” Duncan looked smug. “I’ve known old Sugden for years. I knew there was something not quite right about him.”
“Don’t get too excited,” Killian said, “let’s see what forensics have to say first. It may be a different screwdriver.”
“Come on, Jack, there was bugger-all wrong with it. Why would he throw it away unless he wanted rid of the evidence? It was an expensive one, too. No, Sugden’s our man.”
“I still don’t see the motive,” Taylor said. “Sugden’s a bit odd, but that doesn’t make him a killer. We need more proof, not just some chucked-out tool. When is his solicitor getting here?”
“He’ll be an hour or so,” Killian told her. “He’s still in court.”
“He can take his time,” said Duncan. “Let Sugden stew in the cell for a bit. It’ll do us good. Who’s he got?”
“Justin Stanford. I’ve never met him.”
“I have,” Duncan said. “Real smarmy git. Makes a living getting scumbags off the hook.”
Thomas White walked in. “Sorry to disturb you sir,” he said to Killian, “but I thought you’d want to know that forensics have matched the metal found in the car lock to the screwdriver.”
“Are they a hundred percent sure?”
“Do you want to ask Littlemore if he’s a hundred percent sure?”
“That’s that, then.” Killian stood up. “In the years I’ve known Littlemore, the man has never been wrong about anything in his field. Let’s get a cup of coffee while we wait for Sugden’s solicitor. I’ve a feeling we’re in for a rough few days.”
Taylor gazed out of the window. She could just make out the blue of the Atlantic in the distance. She sipped another cup of peppermint tea. Her stomach felt much better now and the dizziness was gone.
“I want to talk to that scumbag.” Duncan slurped a mouthful of coffee. “You and me. Jack. It’ll be just like the old days.”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” Killian said. “Taylor and I did the initial interview, and it went quite well. I think it would be better if she interviewed Sugden with me. For the sake of consistency, I mean.”
“Seriously, Jack? Her?” Duncan glared at Taylor. “What does she know about interrogating a murderer?”
“Suspected murderer. And she’s more than up to the job.” Killian smiled at her. “Try not to be so aggressive this time, though,” he added. “Sugden’s solicitor will cut you down in an instant.”
“I can do nice,” Taylor said. “I’ll just follow your lead and watch Sugden like a hawk. How d’you want to play it?”
“This is nonsense,” Duncan said. “I’m the experienced one here.” He kicked his chair for effect and walked out of the canteen.
“Ignore him,” Killian told her. “It’s just sour grapes. Anyway, to answer your question, I’m not sure. I’m still not sure about him either.”
“What do you mean?”
“I can’t figure out why he’d want to kill Milly Lancaster. It doesn’t make any sense.”
“What about the evidence?”
“We don’t have enough yet. And there’s no inkling of a motive.”
“Crime of passion?” she suggested.
“Maybe.” Killian sounded unconvinced.