Cold Justice (Willis/Carter #4)(108)

‘I’m sorry about your son. I hope they find him soon.’

‘Thank you.’

She watched him prepare her coffee.

‘Where are you from?’ he asked as he turned and smiled awkwardly.

‘Originally?’ she asked as she undid her coat, took off her bobble hat.

‘Yes.’

‘New York.’

She looked back at the door – the sand was swirling, the spray from the waves was showering down on the glass conservatory. Outside the window the furniture was being upturned.

‘Milk?’

‘Yes, please.’

Cam picked up her coffee cup and walked around the counter.

‘Where would you like to sit?’

‘Oh, over there is great, thanks.’ Lauren nodded in the direction of a table at the edge of the aisle near the door. ‘Aren’t you worried about the high tide? The sea looks pretty fierce.’ She smiled nervously. ‘Are we safe?’

Cam went back to stand by the counter. The place was empty except for Lauren. She looked outside, she was beginning to think she’d better cut the café visit short and head home while she could do so safely.

‘Don’t worry – we’ll be able to see if the sea starts coming over the road and then you can make a break for it, you’ll be fine walking up the hill,’ said Cam.

Lauren took a sip of her coffee and avoided looking at Cam. She told herself not to be silly.

‘Is it your first time in Cornwall?’ Cam asked. He came to stand by her table.

‘Yes. It’s a beautiful place.’

‘Yes, we like it, most of the time, except when we’re invaded.’

‘Invaded?’

‘Holidaymakers.’

‘Oh, I see.’

‘Yes, we have a love-hate relationship with the grockles, we call them. We love their money but we hate them.’ He smiled. ‘Sorry – I’m only joking.’ She smiled back. But the tension in both of them showed.

Lauren tried to see the man beneath. She thought how he would have been an overly pretty boy. Now his face was thin but his eyes were bright blue, his hair curly and sandy-coloured.

‘Do you live in the village?’ Lauren decided to turn the tables and ask the questions.

‘I live on the outskirts.’

‘Did you know my father-in-law, Jeremy Forbes-Wright?’

‘Yes. We all knew him.’

‘We were very grateful to the people of the village for coming to the funeral.’

He shook his head. ‘I didn’t go.’

Lauren wished she could add some personal thought regarding Jeremy’s death, his life even, but she had nothing to say on the matter.

‘Have you lived here all your life?’ she asked Cam.

‘No, I moved away for a big part of it but I’ve come back to stay. This is my home.’ The day was becoming dark with heavy rain clouds outside as the sea began creeping up the beach. With every wave, it pushed a little further and ribbons of foam plumed up into the air as it hit the car park wall.

‘Oh dear, we’d better go,’ Lauren said nervously. ‘The sea is coming right up over the road.’

‘Yes,’ Cam answered, but at the same time he was distracted, watching a yellow Fiat pull up outside. A look of panic crossed his face; Lauren followed his gaze and saw Kensa getting out of the car.

‘We better get going,’ she said looking urgently for Russell’s lead. Cam didn’t answer; he was staring at Kensa. She had opened the door and was standing in the doorway, pointing a gun at Lauren.





Chapter 49


Sandford left for the farm. It was just him working at there today. He drove up the lane and stopped in the gateway to the crime scene. The tents were still there. He sat for a few minutes and listened to the silence, just the sweet song of a blackbird. Then he drove on and parked on the hard standing in the yard. The collie came out, excited to see him. Sandford stood by the car and looked around. Something was missing from the day. He realized that there was no one around. He called out, but didn’t get an answer, so he picked out the plank of wood he’d taken from the grave site, now wrapped in two paper bags to protect it, and he carried it up to the farm-shop store next to Marky’s workshop. He had something on his mind that needed checking. He cleared an area of shelving and opened up the crime scene bag for him to compare the planks. He took photos to show Carter and then walked back out and down towards the house again.

Brutus the stallion shoved his chest against his stable door and snorted. Bluebell shook her mane and whinnied at him. Sandford walked into the farmhouse kitchen and called out a hello. No one answered. He felt the kettle on the Aga; it was cold. Back out into the yard, he went in search of Mawgan. The cattle started mooing from the shed as they heard his footsteps approach. He looked at his watch – he was sure they should have been let out by now. He’d come from farming country originally. He knew what had to happen on farms. Brutus stamped his foot and banged his knee against his door continually. Sandford came over and looked inside his stall – he had no hay and very little water.

He was headed for the field. There, free-range pigs lived in corrugated huts. He could hear the sound of pigs chomping. Pigs happy as . . . he thought. He walked round the corner to the farrowing pens; a sow jumped up on her hind legs as he passed along the narrow walkway. The pens on either side were empty. As he glanced inside one of them, he saw something flapping. He opened the pen and went inside to take a look. A toddler’s night-time nappy had been left dirty and screwed up, thrown in the corner of the sty. It was flapping in the wind.