CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

“A shovel in a shed full of brewing equipment!” DCI James was beaming from ear to ear. “No other tools, just the shovel with a very sharp edge. The same implement our forensics friend Littlemore claims was used to chop Stanley Green in half. If there’s any traces of Stanley Green on that shovel we can put this one to bed and get back to civilisation. How do you put up with those bloody tourists, by the way?” He looked at Taylor.

“I haven’t been here long enough to have an opinion either way,” she replied.

“How long before we know?” Southern asked.

“An hour or so. I’ve made it clear that the shovel is their main priority at the moment.”

“I still can’t believe it,” said Taylor. “Carrick’s hunch was spot on.”

“Jane is very astute. And don’t sell yourself short — you’re not unlike her, if I may say so. There may be a promotion on the way in the near future. I, for one, would be happy to have you on my team.”

Over my dead body, Taylor thought.

“This waiting is driving me crazy,” Paul Southern said.

“Patience, Paul,” James said. “We’ll get there in the end. We always do.”

“What did Phil find out from the phone log?” Southern asked.

“Waste of time. Albarn didn’t phone Alice Green that evening.”

“So who phoned Alice, then?” Taylor said.

“It was probably a prank call. Like our beekeeper said, she was half-cut at the time and the line was bad. I wouldn’t be surprised if the whole thing was in her imagination. You know how old people can be at times.”

“So Albarn didn’t use his phone on Wednesday night?” said Southern.

“Who cares?” James’ smug smile was getting wider. “It’s all irrelevant now. When the shovel you found matches the one used to chop Stanley Green in half, we’ll be home free.”

“Are you sure there were no calls on his phone on Wednesday?” Taylor was finding it hard to believe that Alice Green had got it wrong. She was getting on a bit, but there was nothing wrong with her mind.

“I’ve got the call log here,” James produced a piece of paper.

Taylor looked at the log. There was one call at seven thirty-five.

“Somebody called him. Do we know who it was?”

“We traced it to a phone box in Trotterdown, so it could have been anybody. I really don’t think it matters. My gut feeling is telling me that Dennis Albarn is our man.”

“Mine too,” Southern agreed.

“Make that three of us,” DI Carrick entered the office, “a woman’s intuition is rarely wrong.”

Taylor smiled even though she was still not convinced. These detectives from Exeter were already basking in the glory of their success and looking forward to buggering off back home as soon as they could.

Leaving me to pick up the pieces. DCI James’ team had succeeded in making a fool out of the entire Trotterdown police department in the space of a few days. It would be Taylor who would be left to face the music. Well, she hadn’t finished yet.

“Let’s say the shovel is the one used to chop up Stanley Green. Who’s to say it wasn’t planted in Albarn’s shed?”

“Come on,” James said. “Of course it might have been, but who’d want to frame him? There’s no evidence. Whereas the timeline fits perfectly. Albarn was in all the right places at the right times. The man’s a known felon, for Pete’s sake. Enjoy a well-deserved victory when it comes along.”

“They’ll get over it,” Southern said. “Your colleagues, I mean. OK, there’ll be some sour grapes, maybe plenty of them, but you have to rise above it. The worst that will happen is you’ll have to put up with a few scowls and glares. You might get the silent treatment for a while, but you’ll have a lot more respect around this place afterwards. I can promise you that.”

“Paul’s right,” James agreed. “Bugger the lot of them. They’re not worth bothering about. I reckon we celebrate tonight. My shout, and I’m not taking no for an answer.”

“Let’s see what forensics have to say first,” Taylor said. “I’m going to shower and change my clothes. I can still feel the soot on me.”

“What’s her problem?” James said as she left the office. “She should be pleased.”

“It’s going to be tough on her for a while,” Southern replied.

“Bollocks,” James said.

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

Taylor called DI Killian. With everything that had happened, she had almost forgotten about his wife’s illness. Killian answered straight away.

“Sir, how’re you doing?”

“Rested. The doctors sent me home last night and I had the best sleep in a long time,” he said

“How’s Megan?”

“Stable.”

“Can we talk?”

“Of course. What’s on your mind?”

“Not over the phone. Can you meet me up at Merryhead in an hour?”

“Merryhead? Why do you want to meet up there?”

“I don’t know. I suppose that’s where all of this started. I need you to help me with something. I can’t think straight at the moment.”

“Merryhead it is, then,” Killian said.

Taylor dumped the soot-covered tracksuit at the front desk with DC Eric White.

“What’s this?” he asked.

She had a sudden idea. “I’m running late and this is the tracksuit we found at Dennis Albarn’s house. It needs to be treated carefully, bagged and labelled. I’d do it myself but, like I said, I’m late.”

“What do you want me to do with it?”

“Bag and label it, and send it down to evidence. Oh, and the soot is important so make sure you don’t lose any of it.”

Taylor left him to it. She glanced behind and chuckled as White held the tracksuit like a newborn in his attempt to preserve the precious soot. Maybe next time you’ll pass on a message when I ask you to, she thought.

She left the station before anybody had a chance to stop her. The roads were much quieter now. Maybe all the tourists had taken refuge from the heat. She could relax and try to work everything out. On the one hand, if Dennis Albarn had killed Stanley Green and Milly Lancaster and then committed suicide, it meant the case was closed and everybody could get on with their lives. DCI James and his team from Exeter could leave them in peace and Killian could get his office back. However — and the doubts were still nagging at Taylor’s insides — if Albarn wasn’t guilty, it meant that somebody had murdered three people and framed Albarn. And that meant there was a murderer — a clever one — still at large.

* * *

Killian was already parked at the top of Merryhead when Taylor arrived. He was leaning against the door of his car, staring out over the cliff top at the Atlantic.

“It makes you think, doesn’t it?” she said. “Makes you realise how small and insignificant we all are.”

“It makes me glad to be alive. What’s on your mind?”

“DCI James thinks we’ve cracked the case. We found a shovel in Dennis Albarn’s shed. It’s probably the one that was used to cut Stanley Green in half.” She told Killian everything else that had happened.

“But that’s great news,” Killian said. “You did it. You showed them.”

“Aren’t you upset that it wasn’t you who solved it?”

“Who cares who solved it? It’s all over.”

“I’m not sure. Something doesn’t feel right.”

“From what you’ve just told me it all fits. I don’t particularly like DCI James, but he doesn’t make mistakes.”

“I suppose you’re right. Maybe I just didn’t want him to be the one who figured it out.”

“It’s a result. That’s all that matters and you were part of it. Don’t forget that.”

“That’s another thing that’s worrying me. People have been treating me differently. They’re acting like I’m some kind of traitor.”

Taylor’s phone rang in her pocket. “Taylor,” said PC Eric White, “DCI James couldn’t find you anywhere. He wanted me to let you know they found Stanley Green’s blood on the shovel you found in Dennis Albarn’s shed. It looks like it’s all over.”