Cold Justice (Willis/Carter #4)(48)

‘I looked in the estate agents’ windows when I walked around Greenwich – colossal amount of money for a tiny place. They’ve got the house now. They’re sitting pretty – it’s a million-pound property.’ As Raymonds talked, Carter could see the hunger in his eyes.

‘Perhaps, but they can’t sell it yet. It’s part of his estate. Nothing’s settled yet. It can take a long time.’

‘Yeah. Hey, Marky – come and say hello.’ Raymonds pulled his son back as he was walking past. ‘Detective Inspector Carter, this is my son Marky who owns the Surfshack down there on the beach, and this is Jago who does very little at the moment, except cause trouble.’ He laughed.

Carter shook their hands.

‘We met your partner just now down at the beach,’ Jago said. He was well spoken with a groomed appearance about him, tailored shirt and jeans. He looked like he shopped in places that charged a hundred pounds for a polo shirt. He also looked like he worked out. He had too much gel in his hair and it was too long on top, it stuck up in the air like a cockerel’s comb.

‘Are you from here?’ asked Carter. He thought Jago’s aftershave was nice but there was too much on. Carter wasn’t quite sure whom Jago had come to impress. Marky was a surfer type, low-slung jeans, expensive polo shirt and beads around his neck. Marky was watching his father intently.

‘He doesn’t sound like it, does he?’ Raymonds laughed.

‘Oh, I can if I chooses,’ Jago said in a comical Cornish accent.

‘Jago’s just come back, isn’t that right, Jago?’

‘Yes, absolutely. Decided to see what Cornwall could offer me.’

‘Lots of people starting up small businesses in the West Country at the moment, I hear,’ said Carter.

‘Oh, we only want home-grown here, thanks,’ Raymonds said with a grin.

‘Doesn’t it get a bit inbred?’ Carter asked.

Marky’s laugh came out in a nervous giggle as Jago laughed longer than it was funny.

Raymonds waited for him to simmer down. ‘We allow a bit of new blood in the female form now and again, as long as she’s Cornish. That’s what we need to find for my Marky here – thirty-one years old and not even one wife under his belt.’ He slapped Marky on the back and his son smiled uneasily. ‘Too busy surfing. Oh well – you lads can scarper now you’ve said your hellos. You come by and see Mum tomorrow, Marky – she’s expecting you. If you go fishing, you make sure you bring back a few scallops.’ Marky nodded with a furtive glance towards Carter as he left.

Raymonds waited for Marky and Jago to find their place back at the pool table around the corner and then he looked into his drink. Apart from Raymonds and the two lads, no one had come in or left since Carter arrived; he felt as if he were on a stage, in a play.

Carter glanced at Raymonds’ profile as he sipped his beer. Behind Raymonds he saw the eyes flick up and look their way as if people were waiting and watching to see Raymonds’ judgement on the newcomer.

‘You staying here?’ Raymonds asked, as he perched on a barstool.

‘Yes, for tonight.’

Raymonds nodded, mock-impressed, as he took in the information. He picked up his pint, and Carter looked at Raymonds’ hands – delicate, feminine almost. The half-moon cuticles were white and clean, the nails perfectly filed. Carter could perceive the faintest whiff of what could have been aftershave; but it wasn’t pleasant. He hadn’t noticed the smell in Raymonds’ house when they’d gone there. Carter wondered whether Raymonds had a mistress. He looked around the bar and his eyes met those of Mawgan Stokes, clearing the tables at the far end. She looked away quickly.

Possible, thought Carter. She moved among the tables clearing away the remnants of dinner. Not one of the men at the tables acknowledged her as she leaned across them to clear their glasses.

‘This is your local?’ Carter leaned one elbow on the bar.

‘More or less. It’s the only place to come.’

‘What about over at Penhaligon?’

Raymonds lifted his chin and smiled in a dismissive gesture.

‘Full of kids. The other way gets posher as you go towards Rockyhead. Not to the taste of most locals. Too rich for simple folk.’ He smiled and Carter knew he was taking the piss.

‘I thought you might have been on the way to Penhaligon when you decided to take a detour this afternoon. You were seen by the helicopter up on the Garra headland. I was at Garra Cove myself this afternoon.’

‘Really?’ Raymonds eyeballed Carter. ‘That’s a dangerous place to visit this time of year, when the tides are so high. You can be washed right off the rocks. Gone in a few seconds.’

‘Does that happen often?’

‘Has been known. We get the young kids coming down, getting drunk and off their heads. Just takes a slip or a little push and that’s the last we see of them till their body’s washed up.’

‘So, this afternoon. What were you doing?’

‘I was going to call on Cam up at the cottage but I changed my mind. I spent some time up there just enjoying the view. I never tire of it. You city folks can’t comprehend it, I expect.’

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

‘Yes, and I’m Cornish through and through.’