“I thought you weren’t coming,” James hissed. He looked extremely polished. Taylor was pretty sure he was wearing foundation.
“It’s not six yet.”
The room started to fill up. It looked as if there were journalists from every newspaper and news channel. The press officer switched on the microphones and nodded to the speakers.
“Good evening.” Superintendent Lemon cleared his throat. “Thank you all for coming. I’ll keep this brief. The man of the moment, DCI Warren James, will provide you with all the information you need in due course. I’m sure you’re all aware of the protocol. Any questions you have will be answered at the end. Over to you, Warren.”
“Thank you.” Warren James leaned forward to his microphone.
Taylor could feel the eyes — not to speak of the cameras of scores — panning the desk. Pigs, she thought, they’re all pigs with beady eyes and long snouts. She looked at a man in the front row and did her best to picture him snuffling in the trough. It helped a bit.
“Good evening, everybody,” James began, “I’m sure you’re all aware of the tragic events of recent days. The small peaceful village of Polgarrow is still mourning the loss of three of its elderly residents.”
He paused for effect. It was obviously a rehearsed tactic. The journalists leaned forward, eager to hear what he was going to say next.
“Three elderly people have died,” he continued, “all in the space of a week and all under suspicious circumstances. The Trotterdown police department pleaded for our help.”
Pleaded? Taylor gritted her teeth as he took them slowly through the whole story, trying not to wince or look dubious as he explained exactly why Albarn was the murderer. Finally, he finished and smiled at the crowd. “We’ve cleared up this investigation, and I trust the community can sleep easy again.” He looked around the room.
What’s he waiting for? Taylor thought. A round of applause?
“I’m sure you all have questions,” James went on, “but first I would like to introduce you to the team who made this all possible. If it weren’t for them, I wouldn’t be here in front of you today.” He gestured to Taylor and the detectives from Exeter. Taylor wanted the ground to swallow her up. She couldn’t remember a time when she had felt more uncomfortable.
“DI Carrick,” James said, “DS Southern, DC Brown and Trotterdown’s own DC Taylor. It was a pleasure working with you.”
Taylor prayed the journalists were not going to give them a round of applause.
“Any questions?” James asked before they had a chance.
“DCI James,” the man Taylor had pictured as a pig said. “George Harrow, West Country Herald. How’s the relationship between Exeter and Trotterdown, now that you’ve had to come to their rescue?”
James paused for a moment and then picked up smoothly. “I wouldn’t say ‘rescue.’ We enjoyed their support throughout this investigation. My team are — how can I put it — way ahead in the experience stakes when it comes to this type of crime, that’s all.”
“Could I ask DC Taylor if she feels the same way?” He looked at Taylor.
“Of course,” James said. She tried to look calm.
“DC Taylor, what was it like to abandon your colleagues and jump to another side? How do your workmates feel about you being the only one from Trotterdown chosen to work on the investigation?”
“As far as I’m aware,” Taylor said as steadily as she could, “this was not an individual crusade. We’ve all been working together to bring the investigation to a conclusion. As far as I’m concerned, this was a team effort. It’s never been about individual glory.”
“Not even for DCI James?”
“Not even for DCI James.”
James was clearly trying to suppress a look of fury, and DS Southern one of distinct amusement. Taylor smiled as blandly as she could.
The questions moved on to the other details of the case. Taylor was exhausted by the end of it. At least Killian had been spared the press conference, and James’ barely-disguised hints at his incompetence. Taylor hoped the journalists would leave that part out of their stories.
“That went well,” James told his team before being dragged off for the cameras.
“You can keep the glory,” Taylor said. “As far as I’m concerned we were just doing what they pay us to do.”
“Come on, you need to be able to maximise an opportunity like this! How do you think I worked my way up?”
Narcissistic tendencies? Taylor thought to herself. “I have to go,” she announced. “As of now, I’m officially on leave for two weeks. It was interesting working with you.”
She walked away before they said anything.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
Harriet Taylor woke up from a dreamless sleep to the sound of rain beating down on the roof. Something was bothering her. DCI James and his team would no doubt be back in Exeter by now, wallowing in the glory of a successful investigation and spreading stories about the incompetence of the Trotterdown police department. The case was closed and it was all over.
But Dennis Albarn hadn’t killed Milly Lancaster and Stanley Green.
She went down and made coffee, enjoying the luxury of a late morning in her dressing-gown. Rain lashed against the window and she found she was rather enjoying that too. Tomorrow morning she’d be on a flight, and then onto the boat that would take her up the Nile. Ten days discovering a new place was exactly what she needed. For now, she had a couple of hours to kill before the lunch with Alice Green and nobody to tell her what to do. She went upstairs to run a bath.
* * *
A couple of hours later, she knocked on Alice’s door. The rain had cleared and she felt distinctly cheerful. They might not have cleared up the case to her complete satisfaction, but she was determined to put it behind her. Perhaps they’d been right after all.
Alice called her through to the back garden, where the bees were buzzing back and forth from the hollyhock bushes to the hives. They looked extremely busy.
“They’re back to normal,” Alice said. “They had me worried for a while when they were making that honey that wasn’t quite right.”
“Is there much to beekeeping? It looks quite complicated.”
“There’s nothing to it. The bees do most of the work for me. My bees are Italian and rather slothful but I like them that way. I’ll show you.”
She approached the hives and lifted off the first frame. Taylor stood back cautiously.
“They won’t hurt you. They die if they sting and they know it.”
Taylor moved a step closer and watched the beekeeper slide a sheet of honeycomb out of the frame.
“That’s better. I’ll have plenty for market at this rate.” She slid the honeycomb back and then suddenly winced.
“Are you all right?” Taylor asked.
“Little bugger stung me. It happens sometimes. It’s not serious. I have some bicarb solution in the drawer in the kitchen. Would you be a love and fetch it for me? There’s some cotton wool in there too. It’s starting to throb now.”
Taylor went inside and opened the drawer in the kitchen. She rummaged around and found the bicarb solution. It was in a small, clearly labelled bottle. The cotton wool was harder to track down. She opened the drawer wider and finally found it underneath a packet of plasters. She was about to close the drawer when something caught her eye. It was a gold wedding ring and it looked like a man’s one.