Chapter Seven
ALTHOUGH IT WAS LUNCHTIME, THE FISHERMAN’S Arms was almost empty. A family sat in the garden, beer for the parents and Coke for the kids. A couple of packets of crisps open on the table. The father looked up as Jen approached.
‘They don’t do food on a Monday. Apparently, they can’t find the staff.’ He had a Midlands accent; his voice was whining and complaining. A child denied a treat. ‘I couldn’t see anything about that on the website.’
Jen didn’t respond and walked on into the pub.
Inside, it felt suddenly cool, shadowy. It took her eyes a moment to adjust after the glare of the midday sunshine.
A young man stood behind the bar. A couple of men, elderly and in working clothes, sat in one corner but otherwise there were no customers.
It seemed that tourists would only come here to eat, and, unlike the man outside, most of them had managed to source the information about the availability of food.
‘Can I speak to the manager?’
The lad behind the bar was wearing a polo shirt with a picture of a leaping fish on it – the logo of the pub. He was suntanned and muscular. A surfer’s vibe.
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘It’s Mag and Jim’s day off.’ A pause then an explanation. ‘They worked all weekend at the festival. We ran the beer tent.’
The elderly man in the corner shouted across. ‘They’re upstairs, though. I saw their Volvo outside. You’re the police, aren’t you? We saw all those cars going up the lane to Tide House,’ he added, not hiding his curiosity. ‘What’s going on down there then?’
Jen ignored that question and directed her own to the barman. ‘Are they upstairs? If so, give them a shout, will you?’ Then, when the lad made no movement, she nodded towards the corner of the room. ‘He’s right. I am police. Detective Sergeant Rafferty.’
The barman nodded and walked away. She heard him muttering into his phone, before he reappeared behind the bar.
‘They said to go on up. It’s this way.’ He led her out of the bar and back into the sunshine.
The family had driven away, leaving the glasses, empty crisp packets and a mound of sweet wrappers they must have brought with them on the table.
There was a narrow stone staircase at the side of the building leading to a blue door, which looked as if it had been freshly painted.
The lad tapped and then squeezed past Jen to return to the garden.
He scooped up the glasses and litter and went back inside.
The door opened to reveal a woman in a purple maxi dress.
She might have been in her fifties, but she was wearing her age well.
Her hair was dyed a vibrant blonde that made no pretence at reality and although the dress was sleeveless, there was no loose flesh on her arms or round her neck.
Jen had started to notice these things. She was getting more and more grey hairs too and had begun to hide them.
‘Come along in.’ The voice was local. The woman turned and Jen followed her into a big open-plan living room, with a fancy stainless-steel kitchen at one end.
The woman must have seen Jen staring at it.
‘I know, you’d have thought Jim would have had enough of cooking at work, but he loves it …
We spent more on that part of the room than the rest of the conversion.
He’s just getting dressed, he’ll be along in a minute. We had a heavy weekend.’
‘What a lovely place!’ Jen couldn’t help herself.
There was a wood burner at the opposite end to the kitchen, a comfortable sofa, and three windows looking away from the car park and into the woodland, with a glimpse of the sea in the distance.
Another looked out at the car park and the fields beyond.
Everything was tastefully decorated in muted greens and blues.
‘The pub used to do accommodation, but we decided to concentrate on the food, and knocked through the rooms to make ourselves a flat.’ The woman sat and gestured for Jen to do the same. ‘I’m Marigold Hooper, known to everyone as Mag. What’s this about then? Daniel said you were police.’
Jen paused for a moment. ‘We’re investigating two unexplained deaths at Tide House.’ She was about to continue, but Mag interrupted.
‘Not Cath and Paul?’ She sounded shocked, upset. It seemed to Jen that these were more than customers.
She shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, I really can’t go into details just now.
You’ll understand.’ She thought that Mag was close to tears and added, ‘But no, Cath and Paul are okay. Thing is, we’ve got a whole team working the scene and I need to feed them.
Some of them have been there since very early this morning.
I wondered if you’d be able to provide some sandwiches, crisps?
We have a tight budget, but we’d be happy to pay … ’
‘No need for that.’ Mag was resolute. ‘Always happy to help out and it’s quiet as the grave here on a Monday lunchtime. I’ll get Daniel to make a start, and Jim, my husband, will join him when he’s properly awake.’
As if he’d heard his name, a large man came through a door next to the kitchen. He had a round bald head and a round stomach. Tats on one arm, running up towards his neck. He wore cut-off jeans, a giant shirt and flip-flops.
Jen introduced herself and gave the same brief explanation of her presence. ‘Your wife said you might be able to help feed the team I have working at Tide House.’
The man looked at his wife. Jen could tell he wasn’t overjoyed at the prospect of feeding a team of cops. For free.
‘I’ll just get Daniel to start prepping. I said you’d go and join him in a bit.’ Mag picked up her phone and texted.
‘Daniel’s your barman?’ Jen said. ‘The lad downstairs?’
‘Yeah. He’s seasonal staff. A student.’ Mag turned to her husband, who still hadn’t moved, irritation showing. ‘It is okay to help them with a bit of lunch?’
‘Sure.’ The tone was pure sarcasm. He paused for a beat. ‘What exactly is going on down there?’
‘Two people are dead,’ Jen said. ‘I can’t tell you any more than that.’
‘And that’s tragedy enough! We can help, can’t we, Jim?’ Mag shot her husband a look. Jen couldn’t quite work out what she was trying to tell him. Probably that it was a good plan to co-operate with the police. To pull back on the sarcasm? She wondered if either of them had a record.
Mag turned back to Jen. ‘Why don’t you have a seat? I was just about to make some coffee. It won’t take them long to sort out a packed lunch for your guys. How many of them are there?’
‘About a dozen.’ Jen tried to sound apologetic.
‘No problem!’ Mag looked across at her husband. ‘You okay to help Dan in the kitchen? Give us a shout when you’re done.’ It wasn’t a question but a form of dismissal.
Her husband nodded and disappeared through the door to the stone stairs.
Jen thought he would usually do what he was told by his wife.
They came across as an ill-matched pair.
Mag seemed to think an explanation was in order.
‘Take no notice of Jim. He only really relaxes when he’s in the kitchen and then he’s a miracle worker. ’
The woman went to the hob and loaded an old-fashioned Italian coffee maker. The smell filled the room. Jen sat on one of the sofas and looked out of the window at the view over the combe. This felt like an escape from the investigation, and she experienced a moment of guilt.
‘How well do you know Paul and Cath Armstrong?’
‘They’re regulars at the pub.’ Mag pulled a couple of blue mugs from a shelf.
‘Well, when they’re here. They come for food the first night whenever they arrive at Tide House.
It saves them cooking. And they’re neighbours, aren’t they?
Not every second homeowner makes the effort to know the locals.
They’re minted enough to load up their car with a Harrods hamper and a case of booze, but they don’t.
Bob Brennan has a bit of a farm shop, and I know they buy from him too. ’
‘Have they ever had you down to Tide House?’
Mag gave a little laugh. ‘Not to eat. I don’t think Cath knows much about cooking and according to her, Paul doesn’t do much except ruin a good steak on the barbecue, but I’ve been down for coffee or drinks quite a few times.’
‘And your husband? Was he invited too?’
Mag frowned. ‘Of course! He’s just mostly tied up here.
’ She must have realized that sounded like an excuse, because she continued.
‘Jim’s born and bred Devon. He doesn’t take kindly to wealthy outsiders buying up houses that could provide homes for local workers.
I’m Cornish. We’ve been overrun by tourists for decades, so I guess I’m used to it. ’
Jen tucked away that bit of information to pass on to Venn. ‘What do you make of the Armstrongs? As a family?’
‘I like them. The boys are poppets and Hannah’s a bit shy, but good company when she feels comfortable.
I don’t know Paul so well. He’s usually tied to his phone or in his office in the house, even when he’s supposed to be on holiday, but he’s a minister now, isn’t he?
You’d expect him to be busy. But he’s friendly.
You’d think a politician would be pompous, but he’s got a word for everyone. ’
Jen thought that sounded just like a politician, but she let Mag continue. ‘Cath’s become more like a friend. She pops in sometimes and if I’m not behind the bar, I’ll bring her up here so we can chat.’
She poured the coffee and joined Jen at the sofa.
‘What do you chat about?’
‘Oh, nothing serious. The kids. We were never able to have any ourselves …’ Mag glanced away, so Jen couldn’t tell how much she regretted the absence of a family. ‘But I was a social worker – I specialized in fostering and adoption – so she treats me as some sort of expert.’
‘She’s worried about her children?’ Jen hoped she sounded as if she was just chatting too.