Cold Justice by Lee Weeks Page B

miles from the beach,’ she said as she brought up the map as well. ‘There were three of them there: there’s Martin, obviously.’
    ‘That’s the man who lets Jeremy’s house?’
    ‘Yes. Then there were his two children: his son Towan, who’s thirty-three, and daughter Mawgan, who’s twenty-seven.’
    ‘Excuse me a minute, this is a farming family?’
    ‘Yes, they also own the farm shop in the village.’
    ‘So, what’s he doing looking after JFW’s house?’
    ‘Not sure. Robbo says he’s looked into that and there is no trace of a letting company or any tax files that match.’
    ‘A private arrangement, then.’
    ‘Seems like it.
    ‘Who else?’
    ‘Mary-Jane Trebethin and her son Jago.’
    ‘And they are?’
    ‘Mary-Jane, aged fifty-two, owns the dress shop in Penhal. She’s divorced. Lived there for thirty years. We don’t have anything on her son Jago except that he’s thirty-one.’
    ‘Okay, so that’s five down.’
    ‘Raymonds, of course.’
    ‘Six.’
    ‘The last one is Raymonds’ son, Marky.’
    ‘Raymonds has a son, still living in the village?’
    ‘Seems so. He owns the Surfshack – a shop on the beach. He’s thirty-one, unmarried.’
    ‘Does it seem strange to you that all these men are in their thirties and they still live near their mum and dad?’
    ‘Not really. You do?’
    ‘Yes, I suppose so, but London is a bit different from a tiny village in Cornwall. How do they make a good enough living?’
    ‘Not everyone needs a lot to be happy.’
    ‘We’ll see.’
    After an hour and a half on the motorway and another hour on the dual carriageway, they saw the first signs for Penhaligon.

Chapter 13
     
    They followed the signs for Penhaligon town centre.
    ‘I came here on a lads’ weekend once,’ said Carter. ‘I could probably find the exact guesthouse we stayed in.’ He leaned forward at the wheel as he scanned the streets. ‘There it is.’ He pointed out a blue and white house with a stripy awning and a pub bench and chairs outside. ‘Atlantic Blue, that’s it. What a shit-hole, but a lot of fun.’
    ‘This place looks quite lively.’
    ‘Yes, too lively on a Saturday night. Big problems with antisocial behaviour – drunken louts like me coming down from the city.’
    ‘Second right now, guv.’ Willis read out the instructions from her phone.
    ‘I see it.’ They pulled into the police station car park. ‘This place looks original 1970s,’ Carter said as he got out of the car.
    ‘From the Met?’ asked the desk sergeant.
    ‘That’s right. Major Investigation Team 17; we’re expected by DS Pascoe, is he around?’
    ‘Yes. Hello, I’m Pascoe. Nice to meet you.’ A muscular-looking man in his late forties with a faint ginger stubble and a bald head that looked like it had taken a few knocks appeared from a door behind the counter, came round and shook both their hands. He had shovel-size hands and a nose that looked like it had been broken a few too many times.
    ‘I’ve got us an office.’ He led them down the corridor and through into a room at the end of the hall. ‘Hope this will be okay. You can have whatever you need, just ask. If we’ve got it, you can have it. I started a helicopter search of the area. I expect you’ll bring down more officers if the search intensifies?’
    ‘If we shift the emphasis to here, this place will be crawling.’ Carter looked around the office; it had space for ten people at least. ‘This is great, thanks. How far is it from Penhal?’
    ‘Can be forty minutes on a busy day.’
    ‘Can we look at other options nearer, if this investigation gets bigger?’
    ‘Of course, I have a place in mind in Penhal itself, just wasn’t sure what you’d want. I had a look at the file, what you’ve got so far, it’s a strange case; it’s not the father, then?’
    ‘We’re not ruling Toby out, but there was something going on that day that was out of his control and that makes me think twice about jumping to