“DC Taylor!” A woman approached them. “Do you have any more information for us?”
Taylor wondered how she knew her name.
“DC Taylor?”
“No comment.” Taylor pushed past her and followed Killian into the station, then to the canteen. DS Duncan was sitting at the same table with PC Eric White.
“Where’ve you been hiding?” Killian asked Duncan.
“Flu.” Duncan sniffed. “I should be in bed.”
“Flu in summer?” Taylor sat down next to Killian.
“Since most of us are here,” Killian said, “we can go through what we have so far. Eric, I’ve got a job for you.”
He filled Eric and Duncan in on the Sugden interview. “Do you think he killed Milly Lancaster?” White asked.
“We don’t know yet. That’s why I need you to check out his story. Sugden claims he spoke to Mrs Lancaster on Friday evening. He watched her drive off and then went inside the pub. It’s the Old Boar in Polgarrow. They should be opening soon. I want you to find out if Sugden’s story checks out. If it does, we’re right back to square one.”
“And if it doesn’t?” Duncan said.
“Then we’ll bring Sugden in. Apparently, he had a bit of a thing for Milly Lancaster a while ago.”
“That’s no reason to kill her.” Duncan took out a handkerchief and blew his nose.
“Stranger things have happened. Maybe she spurned his advances and he got angry.”
“I don’t know,” said Taylor, “something doesn’t seem right. Sugden might be a bit weird, but I can’t imagine him killing anybody.”
“Maybe it was a spur of the moment thing,” Eric suggested. “A crime of passion.”
“Rubbish,” Duncan said. “There’s no such thing.”
“For once I’m inclined to agree with DS Duncan,” said Killian. “The evidence we have so far suggests this was planned. The doors in the car were jammed closed. You don’t do that on the spur of the moment.”
“So you’re saying someone planned it beforehand and just waited for the right moment?” Eric asked.
“I don’t know, but Sugden’s all we have at the moment. We’ll see if his story checks out and take it from there.”
Duncan sneezed so hard that his knee shot up and hit the bottom of the table. “Go home,” Killian told him. “You’re no good to anybody in this state.”
PC Thomas White came in and took Duncan’s place, looking exhausted. “We’ve had over two hundred phone calls this morning.”
“And?” Killian said.
“I’ve devised a system. A kind of sliding scale. The obvious time-wasters are at the bottom, followed by the probable attention-seekers. Then there are the maybes and the ones to definitely follow up are at the top. So far we have three people who might be able to help us.”
“Only three?” Taylor asked. “Who are they?”
“There’s Peter Sugden to start with.”
“We’re onto him already,” Killian said. “Who are the other two?”
“A woman walking her dog thinks she saw a car like Milly Lancaster’s up near Merryhead on Friday evening, and a hiker also claims to have seen the car up there. He walked straight past it and he thinks there were two people inside.”
“Good. That’s a start. Taylor, you can talk to the hiker and I’ll leave it up to the Whites to decide between the dog walker and Peter Sugden.”
“I’ll take the pub in Polgarrow,” Eric said.
“Let’s get onto it, then. I’m going to keep our friends in the press up-to-date on what’s going on.”
“Why are you so friendly with them?” Taylor asked him.
“They’re a necessary evil,” Killian told her, “and whether we like it or not, they’re not going anywhere.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Taylor parked outside the youth hostel in Trotterdown. She had never seen the attraction of youth hostels — sweaty student types cramped into tiny dormitories, swapping identical stories of “unique” travel experiences and thinking the world was theirs for the taking. She opened the door and approached the reception area. A young woman with blonde dreadlocks was staring at a computer screen behind the desk. She had piercings in her nose, ears and top lip.
“Morning,” the girl said. She had an Australian accent. “Welcome to the Trotterdown Backpackers.”
“I’m looking for Michael Newton. I believe he’s staying here. Do you know where I can find him?” Taylor took out her ID and showed it to the woman.
“Mike? What’s he done?”
“He phoned in with some information. I just need to ask him a few questions.”
“Is this about the old woman?”
“Do you know where I can find him?” Taylor asked as politely as she could manage.
“He’ll be in the courtyard. He sits there most of the day reading. It’s out there.” The woman pointed to a door to the right of the reception area.
Michael Newton was not at all what Taylor was expecting to find in a youth hostel. He was at least twice her age, balding with a thin pencil moustache. He was also wearing the thickest pair of glasses she had ever seen.
“Michael Newton?” Taylor said.
“Call me Mike. Dr Livingstone, I presume? Sorry, that’s just my pathetic excuse for a joke. You must be from the police. Please take a seat.”
Taylor sat opposite him on a stone bench. Mike set his book down on the table next to it. It was Tolstoy’s War and Peace.
“Third time lucky,” Mike told her. “I’m determined to get to the end this time. I don’t know anybody who’s ever managed to get to the end. Have you tried it?”
“No,” said Taylor. “You called us this morning with some information about the car that went over the cliff at Merryhead.”
“I couldn’t believe it when I read about it. That poor old woman.”
“What were you doing up on Merryhead on Friday evening?”
“Do I need a lawyer?” Mike’s tone turned serious, but then his face broke into a wry smile. “I’m just kidding. I’m a lawyer myself. When I say that, I mean I’m qualified but I don’t practise the dark art. I do a bit of lecturing when the need arises. Those that can’t and all that. I was out hiking and I got a bit lost, I’m afraid. My sense of direction isn’t exactly GPS standard. I was worried I might have to camp out for the night. Somehow I came across the road that leads down from Merryhead.”
“What time was this?”
“It was starting to get dark. So around nine? I didn’t get back here until after midnight.”
“And you saw the car parked up there?”
“I didn’t think much of it at the time. I just assumed it was a couple of young love-birds up there for the atmosphere.”
“So there were two people in the car?”
“It was quite dark, but there were definitely two people in there. No mistake.”
“Can you describe them?”
“Not really. Like I said, it was dark and I gave them a wide berth. I didn’t think they’d appreciate being disturbed.”
“Was it a man and a woman?”
“I think so, but they both had short hair. I’m certain of that.”
“So you left Merryhead and walked all the way back to Trotterdown?”
“Yes. I didn’t realise how long it was going to take.”
“If you don’t mind me asking,” Taylor said, “isn’t it a bit odd for a man like you to be staying in a place like this?”
“They’re cheap, simple and I like the vibe in these places. All the best people are travellers. Look at Dr Livingstone, searching for the source of the Nile, eh?”