Carter ordered a pint of the local beer and Tucker had the local cider. Willis ordered a Coke. They sat in the restaurant and spent an hour making meaningless chitchat in a room without background noise and with too few people for them to talk privately without being overheard. At the end of the dinner they went back to the bar.
Tucker pulled out a brochure of Megan Penarth’s work from his briefcase.
He put it on show on the bar. ‘She definitely lives very near here,’ he said, within earshot of the landlady – Rachel Goody, a woman who had run a bar in Chelsea before buying the inn seven years ago. ‘I wonder how far it is to her studio?’
‘It’s not far.’ Rachel, glancing at the brochure, commented as she pulled a pint. ‘But you have to make an appointment – she doesn’t welcome people to her house. You could try and catch her tomorrow morning. She’s a bit odd like that – you’d think she would be grateful for the work and walk-in trade, but apparently not.’
‘Do you know her personally?’
‘Oh, yes. We all know her. She’s down here complaining about the noise or the light pollution. Her husband was a practising Wiccan.’
‘What’s that?’ Carter asked.
‘One of those “would-be” witches. But, he was a good bloke – he brought in a lot of custom here. He was all about the area – bringing tourism in and making sure he contributed to the area, but she doesn’t do any of that.’
‘She’s not well liked then?’
‘No, not just by me – I’m also a newcomer. But I don’t feel she makes any effort with the locals. She behaves oddly; we see light sometimes, coming from the old quarry. People say it’s her carrying on with her husband’s pagan ceremonies – but I don’t know – all a load of nonsense what people say when they get talking.’
They said goodnight and Willis was so excited to get inside her room, or rather to stand outside the door and put the key in the lock. She had never stayed in a hotel until she first went on holiday as an adult and that was with Tina. They’d gone to Ireland and stayed with Tina’s family but, besides that, they’d spent three nights in a hotel in Dublin and it had been the best fun Willis had ever had. Now she felt enormous excitement and pleasure at turning the key in the lock and pushing the heavy door open to her room. She almost laughed out loud as she walked into a beautiful beamed room with a large kingsize bed with scatter cushions. She walked around the room, looking at the place with delight. Her phone vibrated in her pocket.
‘Miss Willis?’
She answered: ‘Yes?’
‘This is Dr Lydia Reese. I’m afraid we’ve had some problems with your mother.’
Carter and Willis met up on the way down to breakfast.
‘They’ve had something serious happen with my mother.’
‘We’ll drop Tucker off on the way and then we’ll head back as soon as we’ve seen Megan Penarth, Eb.’
‘Please, guv, it’s okay. As far as I could tell there’s nothing I can do. They’re merely informing me that my mother has committed an act of violence against another inmate; they’ve given no further details. I am not rushing to her side. I wouldn’t be any help. We have work to do today and I don’t intend to dwell on my mother. Whatever her reasons, whatever the scheme behind them, I can’t keep trying to work it out.’
‘Okay. I respect that, Eb, but if you change your mind, or you hear something to the contrary, let me know and you can get a train back up or hire a car and go.’
They went into the breakfast room, which had been the restaurant the previous evening, and were shown to their table by the window. It was the first time they had seen it in the light and they looked out on clouds racing across the moors. Ponies were grazing in the hedge opposite their window. Tucker was last to appear. By the time he did, Carter had finished. Willis was on her second plate of English breakfast from the buffet.
‘What a place.’ Tucker joined them at the table. ‘I could live out here, no problem. Couldn’t you?’
‘No,’ Carter answered.
Carter looked at Willis and tried hard to suppress a smile.
After breakfast they walked down through the village and up the lane to Megan Penarth’s house. They knocked at the door but she was out. They walked back up to the pub. The landlady, Rachel, was clearing away breakfast.
‘We were hoping to catch Megan Penarth in but there’s no answer. There’s a car in the driveway. Do you know where she could be?’
‘She’s up at the quarry most days. If you’ve got walking boots, you just need to cross over at the top of this hill and you’ll be on the moors; you’ll see Haytor in front of you, right at the top. Instead of walking straight up towards it, take a detour right and you’ll see the quarry. The front entrance is there through a gate behind the granite pile.’
‘Thanks. Great help.’
‘Have we got wellingtons?’ asked Tucker. They looked at one another.
‘Straight answer – no,’ said Carter. ‘We’ll just have to prepare to get muddy.’
They set off up the hill and crossed the road. They kept to the tufts of grass between the bog areas frosted with ice as they walked up towards the Tor and then veered right. They found the entrance to the quarry and opened the gate. Saplings had rooted on the sides of the cliff face. Beyond them was a sheer drop.
‘Christ, that’s a long way down,’ said Carter as he stepped closer to the edge.
‘You’d think you wouldn’t be allowed to have something so dangerous without a railing in front of it,’ said Willis, recoiling from the edge.
‘Willis – you’re such a townie!’ Tucker laughed at her. ‘It’s not all about sanitizing. This isn’t Disneyworld.’
‘Point taken – but you’ve got to have deaths off here?’
‘Suicides, yes, tragically, and the odd dog falls off, or sheep.’
‘Clever sheep to open the gate,’ said Carter.
‘There’s another way to get in here from the back,’ said Tucker.
Willis looked down at the frozen water. ‘How deep is it?’
‘Fathomless.’ Tucker turned back and smiled at her. He was enjoying exposing the Londoners to a bit of ridicule. ‘Legend has it – it has no bottom to it and it calls for a new victim to be sacrificed to it every year.’
‘Cut the crap, Tucker.’ Carter stopped walking and listened – the icy wind had dropped as they descended into the quarry. There was an oppressive stillness. As they walked further down and wound their way around the outside of the first of the three lakes, they saw a figure standing at the far side, in a sharp cut-out in the granite rock. The figure turned and studied them.
Megan Penarth came down from her place and walked towards them. In her hand were bunches of bright yellow gorse; she was watching the three people but she kept her eyes mainly on Tucker. When she was within hearing distance, she said, ‘Strangers in the quarry – always a bad idea in civilian clothes.’ She smiled. ‘Detective Tucker, I presume?’
‘Morning, Megan. I’ve brought a couple of Londoners down to talk to you.’
‘Great – fresh meat.’ She came level with them and smiled at Carter. ‘Only joking.’ Her eyes were red-rimmed from the cold. Willis waited her turn. Megan glanced round to acknowledge her and there was a peculiar softness in her eyes. She reached out to touch Willis on the hand. ‘You’re freezing.’
Willis felt no warmth coming from Megan’s hand – it was a block of ice. Willis shivered.