and the backstage areas, and we’ve combed the coastal paths for a mile or so in each direction, but there’s nothing of any obvious significance. Miss Cade showed us all the routes down to the sea that she knows of, just in case whoever it was clambered down one of those and got away by boat – but if that’s the case, he left no traces.’
Penrose walked over to the edge of the cliff, feeling the clammy sea wind on his skin, and thought for a moment. ‘It’s possible, I suppose, but it seems a lot to ask. It’s a risky enough crime as it is, without having to climb down cliffs in the dark and fight an incoming tide.’ He saw Trew’s face fall a little, and remembered that this responsibility was new to the boy. ‘We can’t rule anything out at this stage, though,’ he added. ‘Get in touch with the nearby harbourmasters – there’s a chance they might have noticed someone bringing a boat in late last night. It’s not exactly normal behaviour.’
‘The call’s already gone in, Sir,’ Trew said, pleased.
‘Good. I’ve asked the boys at the station to put a notice in the local paper, asking if anyone gave a stranger a lift last night. Something may come of that. What else have you got here?’
‘Very little in terms of forensics, I’m afraid. The weather’s been so good lately, and all the paths are bone dry – there’s no chance of tracking any escape that way. One exception, though – you know the recess under the stage, where he must have waited?’ Penrose nodded, although he wasn’t prepared to rule out the possibility that they were looking for a woman. ‘Well, the sun doesn’t get right in there so it’s quite muddy at the back. We’ve got a clear footprint – left boot, patched with nails that look different from the ones on the sole. It’s not much to go on, and there’s not even anything to prove it’s our man – lots of people went in and out of there during the day, apparently – but I’ve had photographs and a cast done all the same. You never know.’
‘No, you don’t. Well done. No sign of a cast-off monk’s habit complete with laundry marks by any chance?’
Trew smiled. ‘I’m afraid not, Sir. Nor a signed confession placed carefully in that script you were using, but we’ll keep looking.’
‘Any progress on the audience lists?’
‘We’ve worked through as many as possible, but it’s taking a while. Everyone’s so shocked to find out that it wasn’t an accident and, as soon as murder comes into the frame, they fall into one of two categories: either they’re so anxious to oblige that they give you every detail down to what they had in their sandwiches, or so worried about getting mixed up in something that they couldn’t swear to anything, even their own name.’ He sighed, and Penrose was amused to see how quickly the young constable had acquired a world-weary approach to witnesses. ‘There’s still a few to go, but it’s very obvious that nobody remembers anything odd except that business between the dead man and the vicar.’
‘Yes, we’ll pay a visit to the rectory later,’ Penrose said. ‘It’s high time I caught up with my uncle.’ It was obvious from the startled look on Trew’s face that he hadn’t made the connection, and Penrose was quick to reassure him. ‘Don’t worry – there’s no love lost between us and it would be my great pleasure to wipe the self- satisfied smirk off his face, but I can’t believe that he’s capable of killing Nathaniel – physically, I mean, rather than morally. He’s just not fit enough to have got away so quickly.’
‘It’s a tall order for anyone, Sir. I tried it myself earlier, and I’d had it by the time I got to the top.’
‘Yes, it’s a steep climb. Still, it’s the only obvious hostility we’ve got towards Nathaniel at the moment, so we’d better make that a priority. Clearly there was something going on between them.’
‘And no one had better access to the costume that went missing from the vestry, I suppose.’
‘Exactly.’ Penrose walked back across the stage to the top of the steps, and looked down to the path and cliffs below. Glancing back at the balustrade, he remembered something that Nathaniel had said as he left with Morveth to practise his leap into thin air. ‘There was supposed to be someone in position on the path to make sure that Nathaniel had a safe landing when he jumped,’ he said. ‘Have we any idea who it should have been?’
Trew looked at his notebook. ‘A man called Caplin, Sir. Joseph Caplin. Do you know him?’
‘Yes, he’s a farmer on the estate,’ said Penrose, surprised by the response. From what he’d seen of Caplin the night before, he was in no state to steady himself, let alone anyone else. He thought Morveth would have had more sense. ‘We’ll have to find out why he wasn’t there.’
‘Are you certain it couldn’t have been him, then, Sir?’
Trew’s question forced Penrose to analyse his assumption of Caplin’s innocence, and he reconsidered. ‘Well, I can’t immediately think of any reason why he’d want to hurt Nathaniel – but that’s true of most people. And I know he was drunk last night – too drunk to do anything in cold blood.’
‘Unless he was putting it on, Sir. Alcohol’s a great alibi if you do it convincingly enough.’
Penrose looked approvingly at him. ‘I like your scepticism, and you’re right, of course. We’ll add him to the list of calls. Oh – one thing I do have to report. Our missing van’s turned up.’ He repeated what Morwenna had told him about Loveday’s sudden illness. ‘There’s no reason to think that she’s lying,’ he added, anticipating Trew’s next question, ‘but we’ll look the van over when we go to see Jago Snipe.’ He took one last look around: there was nothing more to be learned here, and he couldn’t help feeling that the area which warranted their attention was a few miles back along the coast. ‘We’ll go there first. Christopher Snipe’s disappearance has got to be a priority now, whatever’s behind it.’
‘Are you looking for him as a suspect or another potential victim, Sir?’ Trew asked as they walked back up the hill.
‘To be honest, I have absolutely no idea,’ Penrose admitted. ‘I can’t imagine what he’d have against Nathaniel or, if it’s the latter, why anyone would want them both dead. There’s no immediate link that I can see. Tell me honestly – what sort of resources can we rustle up for a search of the estate?’
‘Nothing like enough for an area that size.’
‘Then we’ll get the locals involved. My uncle William will help with that. We might as well start with the area around the church as it was the last place he was seen. I suppose, out of courtesy, we should let the Reverend Motley know before we go over his graveyard with a fine-tooth comb – that can wait until we see him later. It’ll take a while to get the search organised – realistically, we’re looking at first light tomorrow.’
‘What about the lake itself, Sir?’
Penrose’s heart sank, but he knew it was something he had to consider. ‘I can’t even begin to imagine dragging the Loe,’ he said. ‘It’s just too deep in some places. Legend aside, there’s no way we could get the better of it – it’s just not practical. Let’s hope for now that it won’t come to that.’
‘There is
‘It’s difficult not to sound melodramatic about the prospect of a psychopath stalking pallbearers,’ Penrose said, frustrated once again by the fact that he simply could not shake off the ghost of Harry Pinching. His words were more scathing than he had intended, though, and he tried immediately to soften their impact. ‘But it’s definitely something we should follow up. Let’s go carefully, though – Caplin, Jago and Kestrel Jacks were all here and unaccounted for last night, and one of them could easily be our man. We don’t want to show all our cards at once – God knows, there are few enough of them.’ He stopped by his car and took the keys from his pocket. ‘How did you get here?’
‘One of the patrol cars,’ Trew said, pointing to a group of vehicles parked by Minack House.
‘Get someone else to take it back and come with me now. It’s time we got some statements taken, and we’ll start with Jago – I want to know everything he can tell us about his son’s behaviour lately.’ Trew hesitated. ‘Is there a problem?’
‘Not really, Sir. It’s just that I’ve got my dog with me.’
Penrose laughed. ‘Then go and fetch him. There’s plenty of room for one more.’
Trew beamed and disappeared, returning a couple of minutes later with what looked like a typically well- trained Airedale terrier. ‘This is Treg, Sir,’ he said as Penrose knelt down to greet the dog. ‘It’s short for Tregeagle. Looks good as gold, doesn’t he? But if I don’t keep him busy, the devil takes him back.’ The dog looked adoringly up at his owner and jumped obediently into the back seat as if to disprove such a wicked slur on his character. ‘Seriously, though, he’s good company. It can be a lonely beat at times, and we fall between two workhouses, so we get a lot of tramps passing through. They’ll try anything, given half a chance – but one bark from him and they think twice about it.’
