‘It’s important.’ Greenwood said.
‘Why would someone take my car? What’s the point?’
‘The woman drove it to a village not far from here, committed a murder and then drove back to the station.’
‘My car! I can’t believe it.’ Diane Connolly sat down. She was visibly upset. ‘We see people dying here,’ she said after a couple of minutes, ‘but you get used to that. But now you’re telling me that my car was used in a murder.’
‘Unfortunately, Miss Connolly,’ Greenwood said, ‘that’s the truth. It is evidence I’m afraid. Have you cleaned it since you came back?’
‘I meant to, but I don’t get much time off, so the answer is no.’
‘It will need to be impounded. Our forensics people will go over it.’
‘It’s not as if it’s much of a car, probably only worth a few hundred pounds. I don’t think I could ever drive it again, not now, knowing what happened. Is it that murder down in Polperro?’
‘Yes, that’s the one.’
Diane Connolly handed over the keys to her car. ‘Please take it. I’ve got a few things in the boot, a jacket inside the car, not much else. Let me have them when you can, but otherwise, you keep the car.’
‘I’ll see to it,’ Doherty said. ‘The forensics people will be down within a couple of hours. They’ll truck it out from here. If you don’t want to see the car again, I’ll make sure you don’t.’
Jim Greenwood phoned the team in Challis Street, to tell them that he was returning to Polperro. Mike Doherty was staying in St Austell, waiting for Forensics to arrive.
Ten years younger than Jim Greenwood, Doherty had to admit that Diane Connolly was pleasantly attractive. If she was free, the same as him, he intended to ask her out.
***
Bob Palmer came to, uncertain where he was and what was happening. He tried to stand up, unsure why he couldn’t. He could see that it was dark, a shaft of light entering through a crack in the roof up above.
He shouted, but no one was listening.
Armstrong entered the barn, the old wooden door creaking as it opened. Palmer was sitting on a bale of hay, the same one that Jacob Wolfenden had sat on not so long before.
Outside the barn, Wolfenden waited. He had not wanted to drive to the place, but he had followed instructions.
Palmer looked up when he saw Armstrong. ‘Why?’ he said.
‘You keep asking questions. I’m not sure what to do about you.’
‘I’ve done nothing wrong.’
‘Not yet.’
‘I’m hungry, I need to relieve myself.’
‘I’ll make sure you’re fed, don’t worry. But for now, you can stay there while I consider the options.’
‘What options?’
‘It’s simple, really. Do I kill you now or do I let you kill someone else? It’s a dilemma. I don’t know which choice to make.’
‘Let me go. I won’t tell anybody about this. I won’t tell anyone about you.’
‘I’m afraid, Palmer, you will.’
‘I wanted to kill that woman, I’ll admit to that, but not now. Believe me, please let me go.’
‘You’d better get used to this place. You’ll be here for a few days.’
Outside, Wolfenden could hear the conversation. He was ready to run, but where. They were in the country, a muddy track leading up to the barn, trees on either side.
He took out his phone, no signal. He couldn’t even phone Hamish McIntyre to tell the man to leave him alone.
Armstrong came out of the barn. ‘Sorry about that,’ he said. ‘He’s trouble, that one.’
‘I’m not. Hamish said I’d be safe.’
‘You were before you found Palmer.’
‘And now?
‘What do you reckon? You could cause me serious trouble, get me locked up again. And believe me, I enjoy my freedom.’
‘What about him inside?’
‘I’ve not decided yet. It depends.’
‘On what?’
‘I’ll tell you, Jacob. Someone’s going to die. It’s either Bob Palmer or Hamish’s daughter. One of the other. Which one do you think I should choose?’
‘I don’t want to know.’
‘Do you ever watch old gangster movies, James Cagney?’
‘Sometimes.’
You know what happens when people like me tell the hapless victim the truth? A confession, except there’s no priest involved, no Hail Marys.’
‘I can’t remember.’
‘You couldn’t have been watching.’
As Wolfenden stood there, frozen to the spot, Armstrong pulled open the door of the Mercedes, took a gun out of the glove compartment and shot him in the head.
As he stood over the body, Armstrong said, ‘They never have a chance to tell anyone what they had been told. That’s the truth, isn’t it?’
With that, Armstrong stripped the man down, put his clothes and his shoes in a pile some distance from the barn, threw diesel fuel over them and set them alight. He then dragged the body, heavier than he had expected, over to a 44-gallon drum. He removed the lid and heaved the man inside. He then filled it with acid which he had purchased two days earlier. It was good to have contacts, no questions asked, he knew that.
He had killed his first man; the second wouldn’t be so difficult.
***
Mike Doherty had been impressed by Diane Connolly. He couldn’t say the same about her car. With Jim Greenwood on the way back to the scene of the crime, he stood alongside the old Subaru.
Even if she didn’t want the car again, it was, given that the tax was due to be renewed in one month, at the end of its useable life. The rust under the wheel arches, the bald tyres at the back, and the crumpled appearance would deem it fit only for the scrapheap.
He peered through the car window but didn’t touch the vehicle, even though he was wearing gloves. On the back seat, magazines, the old jacket that
