“The mermaid’s chair?”

“That’s what he said. Said if you’re a proper detective, you should be able to find it.” Ferrell shrugged and looked a bit embarrassed. “Funny bloke, you ask me. Fair warning and all that. I think he may be a bit gaga.”

Chapter Nineteen

DAIDRE TRAHAIR NOT BEING AT HOME, THERE WAS NOTHING for it but to return to the police station in Casvelyn, which was what Bea and DS Havers did. Bea wedged her card into the cottage doorway in Polcare Cove before they left, with a note scribbled upon it, asking the vet to phone or to come to the station, but she didn’t have much faith in that producing any positive results. Dr. Trahair was, after all, without a telephone or a mobile and, considering her dealings with the truth so far-which could best be described as either fast and loose or nonexistent-she wouldn’t be entirely motivated to get in touch with them anyway. She was a liar. They now knew she was a liar. She now knew they knew she was a liar. With that combination of rather compelling details as the background of Bea’s request that she get in touch, why would Daidre Trahair want to place herself in a position where a nasty confrontation with the cops was likely?

“He’s not looking at things the way he ought,” Bea said to DS Havers abruptly as they headed upwards and out of Polcare Cove. Her thoughts had made a natural segue. Daidre Trahair and Polcare Cottage led inevitably to Thomas Lynley and Daidre Trahair and Polcare Cottage. Bea didn’t like the fact that Lynley had been there, acting the part of informal greeting party to her and DS Havers. Even less did she like the fact that Lynley had protested a bit too much when it came to Daidre Trahair’s innocence in all matters pertaining to Santo Kerne.

“He’s got a thing about keeping all the possible options in place as possible options,” Havers said. The way she sounded was something Bea thought of as cautiously casual, and the DI narrowed her eyes suspiciously. The sergeant, she saw, was looking steadily forward, as if, as she spoke, a study of the lane were imperative for some reason. “That’s all that was, that business at the cottage. He looks at situations and sees them the way the CPS would see them. Forget an arrest for the moment, he thinks. The real question is: Is this good enough to take into court? Yes or no? If it’s a no, he makes everyone keep digging. Gives you aggro-and-a-half sometimes, but it all comes right in the end.”

“That being the case, we might ask ourselves why he’s reluctant to dig into Dr. Trahair’s story, mightn’t we?”

“I think he reckons the Newquay angle is stronger. But no matter, really. He’ll pick up where he left off on her.”

Bea eyed Havers again. The DS’s body language didn’t meet her tone, one tense and the other too easy. There was far more here than met the eye, and Bea reckoned she knew what it was. “Rock and a hard place,” she said to Havers.

“What?” Havers glanced at her.

“You, Sergeant Havers. That’s where you are, isn’t it? Loyalty to him versus loyalty to the job. Question is, how will you make the choice if you have to?”

Havers smiled thinly, clearly without humour. “Oh, I know how to choose when it comes to it, Guv. I didn’t get where I am by choosing like a fool.”

“All of which is defined by the individual, isn’t it?” Bea noted. “The choosing-like-a-fool bit. I’m not an idiot, Sergeant. Don’t play me for one.”

“I hope I wouldn’t be that stupid.”

“Are you in love with that man?”

“Who?” Then Havers’ eyes widened. She had unappealingly small eyes, but when she opened them wide, Bea saw their attractive colour, which was highland sky blue. “D’you mean the super-?” Havers used her thumb to point in the direction Lynley had taken ahead of them. “We’d make quite the couple, wouldn’t we?” She barked a laugh. “Like I said, Guv, I bloody well hope I wouldn’t be that stupid.”

Bea eyed her and saw that, in this, she was telling the truth. Or at least a partial truth. And because it was partial, Bea knew she would have to watch Havers closely and monitor her work. She didn’t like the idea-damn, was there no one on this case upon whom she was going to be able to rely?-but she couldn’t see she had a choice.

Back in Casvelyn, the incident room displayed a gratifying scene of business in motion. Sergeant Collins was making notations on the china board about activities; Constable McNulty was beavering away at Santo Kerne’s computer; in the absence of a civilian typist one of the TAG team officers was working at transcribing a stack of notes into HOLMES. In the meantime, the DVLA had weighed in with a list of owners of cars like the two seen in the vicinity of Santo Kerne’s cliff fall. The Defender, as Bea had assumed, had been the easier one when it came to comparing listed owners of such vehicles with all the principals in the case. Jago Reeth owned a Defender very similar to the car seen in Alsperyl approximately one mile to the north of the cliff where Santo Kerne was doing his abseiling. As to the RAV4, the vehicle seen to the south of that same cliff likely belonged to one Lewis Angarrack.

“Madlyn’s stand-in granddad and Madlyn’s father,” Bea told Havers. “Isn’t that a lovely detail?”

“As to that…?” It was Constable McNulty speaking, half risen from behind Santo Kerne’s computer. He sounded something between hopeful and excited, “Guv, there’s-”

“Vengeance,” Havers agreed. “He takes the girl’s virtue and cheats on her. They take care of him. Or at least one of them does. Or they plan it together. That sort of thing plays strong when it comes to murder.”

“Guv?” McNulty again, fully upright now.

“And both Reeth and Angarrack would’ve had access to the boy’s equipment,” Bea said. “In the boot of his car? They would’ve likely known it was there.”

“Madlyn telling them?”

“Perhaps. But either one of them just could have seen it at one time or another.”

“Guv, I know you wanted me off the big-wave thing,” McNulty broke in. “But you need to have a look at this.”

“In a minute, Constable.” Bea motioned him down. “Let me follow one thought at a time.”

“But this one relates. It’s part of the picture.”

“Damn it, McNulty!”

He sat. He exchanged a black look with Sergeant Collins. Bloody cow was its message. Bea saw this and said sharply, “That’ll do, Constable. All right, all right. What?” She approached the computer. He tapped frantically at the keyboard. A Web site appeared, featuring an enormous wave with a flea-size surfer upon it. Bea saw this and prayed for patience although she wanted to drag McNulty from the computer by his ears.

“It’s what he said about that poster,” McNulty told her. “That old bloke over LiquidEarth. When you and I were talking to him. See, first of all that kid on the wave-riding Maverick’s, he said, remember?-couldn’t’ve been Mark Foo. That’s a picture of Jay Moriarty-”

“Constable, this is all sounding rather too familiar,” Bea cut in. “But wait. Look. Like I said, it’s a picture of Jay Moriarty and it’s famous, least among surfers who ride big waves. Not only was the kid sixteen, but he was the youngest surfer ever to ride Maverick’s at the time. And that picture of him was taken during the same swell that killed Mark Foo.”

“And this is critically important because…?”

“Because surfers know. At least surfers who’ve been to Maverick’s know.”

“Know what, exactly?”

“The difference between them. Between Jay Moriarty and Mark Foo.” McNulty’s face was alight, as if he’d cracked the case on his own and was waiting for Bea to say “Just call me Lestrade.” When she did not, he continued, perhaps less enthusiastically but certainly no less doggedly. “Don’t you see? That bloke with the Defender-Jago Reeth-he said the poster at LiquidEarth was Mark Foo. Mark Foo on the wave that killed him, he said. But here-right here-” McNulty tapped a few keys, and a photo identical to the poster appeared. “This is the same picture, Guv. And it’s Jay Moriarty, not Mark Foo at all.”