‘I will, thank you, and I’m on my mobile if anyone needs to contact me.’
Meanwhile Paul was seated in the helicopter with Williams, who used the radio-controlled microphone to talk to his guest through the headphones.
‘We’re going to start by flying north and then go south down the coast to Land’s End. You’ll get a good bird’s-eye view of all the beaches and different locations used by Sammy and his henchmen.’
As they left Newquay, Paul’s stomach lurched. Although it was no longer raining there was quite a wind kicking up.
‘As you can see below, the reason why Newquay is a focal point for surfers is because we’ve got beaches facing in all directions. That means there’s a good spread of the different types of surf, for beginners to professionals. We get some really excellent breaks.’
Williams kept up a running commentary, pinpointing the known locations and where two bodies had been washed up. They flew over Sammy’s apartment and Paul could see way below his speedboat bobbing around in the swell.
Anna used the route-finder to drive out of Newquay heading for Falmouth. It was unseasonably cold, but the sun came out and now that she was alone she began to relax. She knew it might be a fruitless drive, but it was possible that the same waiter might also have known Alan Rawlins.
Williams received a text message from Harry Took that he had released a car for DCI Travis, who was driving to Falmouth to the hotels named on the incident board. Williams laughed and turned back to Paul.
‘Your Anna Travis doesn’t like flying? But I can tell you she’s on a wasted trip whereas this would have been beneficial because she would be able to understand the number of locations we’ve had to check out.’
As they headed for Bude, Williams pointed out the various beaches used by the surfers: Duckpool, Sandymouth, Northcott Mouth, Crooklets. They swooped down low over Widemouth Bay, Crackington Haven and Trebarwith Strand. The constant motion as they flew lower with the wind buffeting the helicopter made Paul’s stomach turn.
Falmouth Harbour was very picturesque and a popular tourist attraction. The well-sheltered cove was crowded with fishing boats, advertisements for day-trip excursions and an abundance of fish and chip restaurants. But Anna drove straight through before heading onto narrow lanes towards a hotel built on a clifftop. The Trethanium was a very well-appointed establishment with a large roof-terrace restaurant. There were no spaces available in the front driveway so she had to use their overflow car park across the road.
She left the fleece jacket behind as it was just a short walk across the road to the hotel’s rear entrance, where she found a row of Wellington boots left on shelves for the residents, along with umbrellas and plastic raincoats. She made her way through a corridor towards a small desk beside the entrance to the restaurant. The restaurant was empty so Anna then followed the signs for the bar. There were a few residents sitting on high stools around the small well-equipped bar, and a young girl in a white shirt and black skirt was serving. The room looked out on the spectacular sea views and opened, through two glass doors, onto a large restaurant terrace which was closed as it was out of season.
‘I’m looking for Neil Baggerly,’ Anna said to the barmaid, who checked her watch and suggested he might be in the dining room setting up for lunch.
‘I’ve just come from there,’ Anna told her. ‘The tables are set but nobody is about. Is there anywhere else he might be?’
‘Try the front of the hotel. We are expecting some guests to arrive.’
Anna went to go back the way she had entered when the barmaid told her that the main reception of the hotel was via another corridor. There were arrows pointing to reception, so Anna followed the signs down a staircase and out to the main reception area. This faced wide glassfronted doors opening onto the narrow roadway. There was no one on the desk, but outside Anna could see a young dark-haired man carrying two suitcases from the open boot of a car. The glass doors opened electronically and he headed inside. The elderly couple on the pavement returned to their car to drive it around to the hotel parking lot where Anna had left her car.
‘Excuse me, are you Neil Baggerly?’
He glanced at her as he leaned over the reception desk to remove a room key.
‘You want to make a booking for lunch?’
‘No, I would like to talk to you.’
He straightened, looking at her suspiciously. She came closer and showed her ID, saying, ‘When you have a moment.’
Picking up the suitcases, he gave her a resigned glance and said over his shoulder that he’d be five minutes.
It was more like ten as Anna waited. He eventually returned and took the guestbook to jot down the time of the guests’ arrival. She took the moment to have a really good look at him. He was not very tall, but was very striking in looks, with thick black hair combed back from his chiselled face. He closed the book and tucked the biro back into his top pocket.
‘What do you want?’
‘Is there somewhere we can talk?’ Anna began.
‘I’m on duty so whatever you want to ask me, do it here.’
‘If you want me to air your dirty laundry in public I will.’
‘Listen, I have been questioned over and over again. This is about Sammy Marsh again, isn’t it?’
‘Connected to him, yes.’
‘Well, I’ve told a fat greasy guy everything, and then I’ve repeated it all to a tall, sandy-haired bloke. I haven’t seen Sammy for over eight months. I knew him, yeah. I could get him the best table on the terrace in the summer, yeah, but I don’t have anything more to do with him.’
‘I really think you need to change your attitude . . .’
‘I just
Anna again showed her ID, facing him out.
‘I’m not from here. I’ve come from London and this, Mr Baggerly, is a murder enquiry – so you
He sulkily picked up the phone and spoke to someone to say he would be in the other bar. He jerked his head for Anna to follow him.
The bar, which was close to the open terrace, was closed. Ungraciously, he pulled out two stools.
‘Thank you.’
He shrugged as Anna placed her briefcase onto the bar and clicked it open, removing the photograph of Alan Rawlins.
‘Do you know this man?’
Neil looked and nodded. ‘Yeah, he used to have lunch here in the summer, but I’ve not seen him either for months, like Sammy.’
‘Sammy Marsh? How well did you know him?’
‘Not well, but like I said, I’ve been asked about him.’
‘What about this man in the photograph?’
‘Last summer, he’d come here for lunch and sometimes dinner.’
‘What was his name?’
‘Daniel Matthews.’
‘Was he alone?’
‘No, he was sometimes with Sammy and sometimes with another guy, or sometimes with four or five people.’
‘How well did you know Daniel Matthews?’
Baggerly sighed and then looked her in the eye. ‘I knew him. He was a heavy tipper so I always made a point of grabbing him as a customer.’
‘You grab anything else?’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘This man was homosexual.’
