Chapter Eighteen
EARLY ON WEDNESDAY MORNING, JEN TRIED to get in touch with Daniel Miller, the occasional barman at the Fisherman’s Arms. He was hard to pin down, not answering his mobile. Jen had Mag’s phone number and called her before leaving home.
‘It’s Daniel’s morning off,’ Mag said. ‘He’s not working until this afternoon. Knowing him, he’ll either be surfing or asleep. I’ve got his mum’s number, though. Always useful if you’ve got young staff, who need the occasional wake-up call.’
‘I understand your husband had a bit of a row with both girls last Friday.’ Jen made sure her voice was light. Not a hint of accusation.
‘We can’t get away with underage drinking,’ Mag said.
‘Not these days. Not in a pub like this. They were pushing their luck.’ A pause.
‘If it had just been Hannah, Jim might not have made such a big deal of it, but that Lottie really got up his nose. Besides, we couldn’t encourage it.
Let it go once, and all the kids try it on with their fake IDs. We’re not that sort of place.’
‘Of course not.’ Jen was conciliatory, but she wasn’t sure how many kids would afford the prices they were charging for drinks. ‘If I send through a photo, could you let me know if it was the woman who had dinner with the Kinzalows on Tuesday evening?’
‘Sure.’
Jen took the phone from her ear and sent the photo over.
Mag’s response was immediate. ‘Yes, my dear, that was certainly her.’
‘I don’t suppose you heard any of their conversation?’
‘I don’t eavesdrop on my customers!’
‘Of course,’ Jen said. ‘Of course.’
‘But it wasn’t the friendliest of conversations. You could tell that from the body language. If you work in hospitality, you have to be vigilant, and we all have a sixth sense for trouble.’ A pause. ‘A bit like the police.’
Jen phoned the mobile number she had for Daniel, but once more it clicked straight through to voicemail.
‘Sorry, I’m probably catching a wave. Leave me a message and I’ll get back to you.’
Daniel’s voice. Confident. Educated. Again, she remembered Venn’s word of advice about the Scouse chip on her shoulder and tried not to make any sort of judgement. She left a message asking Daniel to phone her back, then tried his mother’s number, but she failed to reply too.
Ross May did answer. ‘I’ll pick you up at home,’ she said, ‘and we’ll head out to Torr.
’ She thought it would be good to have him with her when she talked to Daniel, and then they could start a proper search for the Kinzalows.
‘Mag has confirmed that Elaine was the woman they met in the Fisherman’s Arms.’
Daniel’s call came through just as she parked outside Ross’s house on one of the new estates that had sprung up around Barnstaple.
Ross’s wife Mel was in the front room, and she grinned and waved out of the window.
Mel was a manager of a care home for the elderly and some days she worked shifts.
She’d had a health scare the year before, but she was looking well.
‘Hello.’ Daniel’s voice was grudging. ‘You left a message.’
‘I’d like to speak to you,’ Jen said, ‘to take a more formal statement. I’ve spoken to Mag, and I know you’re not working this morning. We’ll come to your house. I’ve got your address. It’ll be fine if you want your parents to be with you.’
‘I don’t know.’ The same sullen tone. ‘It’s not really convenient. I had plans.’
‘This isn’t about your convenience.’ Jen knew how to deal with difficult young people. You never let them call the shots. ‘We’ll be there in an hour.’ She ended the call before Daniel could reply and just as Ross came out of his front door.
She’d expected that the Millers would live in one of the grand Victorian villas that snaked up the hill out of the town, but it was a new build on a small estate.
Executive, each detached, each individually designed with a view through long windows to the harbour.
Enough space on the drive for three cars or a boat.
Jen thought this was the kind of place Ross would dream of owning.
An older man wearing shorts and sandals, a polo shirt with a fancy logo and glasses pushed onto his forehead opened the door to them.
‘You must be the detectives.’ He held out his hand.
‘Daniel’s dad, Alan Miller. Dan said you’d be coming to take a statement.
I’ll give him a shout. You can use my office.
I was ready for a break anyway. I’ve been on a Zoom call to Oz.
It started in the middle of the night. The time difference can be a nightmare.
’ He gave a quick grin. ‘But better, I suppose, than those horrific long-haul flights.’
‘Daniel said you work from home.’
‘Yes. Financial advice. My own consultancy. Businesses, not individuals.’ He paused.
‘There are regular trips to London, of course, but the work–life balance is so much better here. Besides, the train doesn’t take very much longer than it did from Surrey.
’ He spoke very quickly, as if he could be doing something much more important.
‘You’re welcome to sit in on the interview, if you’d prefer.’
‘Oh,’ he said easily. ‘No need for that. Daniel’s an adult after all. And I assume this is just routine.’
‘Of course,’ Jen said. ‘Just routine. But all the same, it might be a good thing for you to join us.’
Miller’s office was at the top of the house.
A big room, it was a mix of old and new.
An old desk with a fancy computer and keyboard.
A comfortable armchair in one corner, a small sofa in another.
A lot of family photos. Daniel must have an older sister.
There were shots of the two of them as youngsters, brown and sandy on the beach.
Pictures of them a little older carrying surfboards.
All, it seemed, very perfect. The memories of family holidays that had caused the Millers to move to North Devon immediately after the pandemic.
Jen and Ross sat on the sofa and waited for Miller to fetch his son.
Daniel looked as if he’d just got out of bed.
Despite the automated voicemail message, there was no sign that he’d been up surfing.
He hadn’t shaved or brushed his hair and was wearing shorts and a T-shirt.
Perhaps he’d fallen asleep again after returning Jen’s call, and had scrambled to get dressed when he heard them come in.
He was resentful. Miller perched on the edge of the desk and Daniel slumped into the sofa.
‘I’ve already told you everything I know.’
‘I’m sorry that we had to disturb your morning off.’ Better, Jen thought, not to start off with a row. ‘This is important, though. Two young women died. You might not have known them well, but you must understand how distressing this is for the people who did. Their families.’
Miller gave a little cough. Daniel got the message. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Of course. Anything I can do to help.’
‘Were you working in the Fisherman’s Arms early on the Friday evening?’
He nodded. ‘Mag was setting up the bar for MillsFest. The main event was on the Saturday, but people were arriving, and Friday’s always a busy day at the pub.’
‘Hannah and Lottie came in and tried to get served. Did you see the encounter with Jim?’
Daniel gave a little laugh. His father frowned. This time, the son seemed not to notice the disapproval.
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘It was quite a show. Jim laying down the law. The London girls all dressed up. I think Hannah Armstrong was dead embarrassed, but Lottie didn’t care. She gave as good as she got.’
‘I suppose,’ Jen said, ‘that it didn’t matter to her. She probably would never come back to Millscombe. Hannah would have found it awkward. Her parents were regulars at the pub. Cath and Mag were friends.’
‘I guess.’
‘Does Jim Hooper give you a bad time? He’s not a great fan of outsiders moving into the area.’ Jen supposed it wasn’t relevant, but she was curious.
Daniel shrugged. ‘A few snidey remarks. Nothing I can’t handle. Besides, he’s mostly in the kitchen. I work more with Mag and she’s okay.’
‘Were the girls going on to the farm after calling in to the pub on Friday?’ Ross asked the question. Maybe he thought Jen was wandering from the point.
‘I assume so.’ Daniel gave a smirk, which made Jen want to hit him. ‘Hannah had a bit of a thing for Jake Brennan. And though Saturday was the main day of the festival, there was some music on the Friday too. A kind of informal, open-mic thing.’
‘Did you see the girls later that evening?’ Ross again. Jen was content to let him take over. She might let her antipathy show.
‘The Friday night? No! I just drove home.’
‘What about Saturday?’
‘I was at the pub all day, covering for Mag and Jim while they were at the festival.’
‘But you must have seen them on Sunday because then it was your turn to run the beer tent. And apparently, you and Lottie left at about the same time.’ Ross looked at Daniel.
Miller shifted in his seat. ‘What are you implying, Sergeant?’
‘Nothing at all, sir.’ Ross let his accent become a little more pronounced.
Playing, Jen thought, the local yokel, hoping that Miller would underestimate him.
‘But at the moment it seems as if your son might be the last person to have seen Lottie Cauldwell alive. An important witness. You do understand?’
Now, Jen did jump in. ‘Our CSIs are working in Tide House. They’ll be there for a while yet.
Checking for fingerprints, footwear prints.
DNA on a glass or a bottle. Looking for something to put a stranger in the place.
If you were there, Daniel, perhaps for an after-festival drink, now would be a good time to tell us.
If you lie while we’re giving you a chance to set the record straight, it will seem rather suspicious. ’
There was a moment of silence. Miller was staring at his son. Jen found it hard to know what the man was thinking. He’d be a good negotiator in a business deal. The best kind of poker player. He turned back to the detectives and smiled.
‘I think you can accept my son’s word, Officers.’