‘Crack on, Jimmy,’ she said at last. ‘That’s the only option we’ve got.’
Lizzie was back at home when she got the call. It was Tessa from the rowing club.
‘We have a bit of a situation,’ she said at once. ‘And I’m wondering whether you might be able to help.’
Molly Doyle, she said, had phoned half an hour ago after a conversation with the Coastguard. The club’s single scull had been spotted by a fishing boat a mile off Straight Point. It was upside down in a worsening chop and there was no sign of the rower. Tessa had gone straight down to the club compound and found a pile of clothes inside the Portakabin. She was convinced they belonged to Tom Pendrick. He hadn’t booked himself out the way he should have done, but the single’s trolley was on the beach, awaiting his return.
‘Why are you phoning me?’
‘Because Tom might have mentioned taking the single out. Have you seen him recently?’
‘I saw him this morning.’
‘And he didn’t mention it?’
‘No. He was on the machine. He’d just done twenty K. Why would he go out rowing after that?’
‘Good question.’
Tessa promised to keep her in touch and then rang off. Lizzie sat by the phone. All day she’d been on the point of putting a call through to Jimmy. Given what she’d inflicted on the man, it was the least she could do, but the more she thought about it, the more she realised she didn’t know what to say. She imagined the squad must be close to arresting Pendrick. Hence this morning’s confession. And hence, she assumed, his abrupt disappearance. The man had too much pride to hang around. Life had taken him to a very bad place. He’d settled his debts with Kinsey, and now, like his wife, he’d chosen the ocean to end his days. Full circle, she thought, reaching for the phone.
Suttle was still in Topsham when his mobile began to beep. He checked caller ID. It was Lizzie. For a moment he didn’t want to talk to her but then he thought of Grace. Maybe something’s happened. Maybe she needs the car.
‘Hi.’
‘Where are you?’
‘Topsham.’
‘We need to talk, Jimmy.’
‘About what?’
‘Pendrick.’
‘There’s nothing to say.’
‘There is, my love. He killed Kinsey. How do I know? Because he told me.’
It took Suttle less than half an hour to make it to Chantry Cottage. An ugly situation had just got a whole lot worse. How long had his wife known about Pendrick? A couple of days? Longer? Had they been so close she’d decided to shield a killer? Why hadn’t she told him before?
He found her feeding Grace in front of the TV. The Good Life. Bizarre.
‘Just tell me what happened,’ he said.
Lizzie told him about the conversation in the clubhouse. She tried to apologise for not contacting him earlier but knew it was pointless. Whatever she said, she was looking at serious trouble. In his current mood her husband was probably contemplating an arrest for perverting the course of justice.
‘So where is he? Pendrick?’ Suttle hadn’t sat down.
‘He’s disappeared. He took the little single scull and no one’s seen him since.’
She told him about the call to the Coastguard. By now she assumed they’d have the helicopters out and maybe the lifeboat.
‘And what do you think?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You know the guy. What’s he up to?’
‘I think he’s had enough.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘I think he’s out there somewhere, probably dead.’
‘Why? Why would he have done that?’
‘I assume he knew.’
‘Knew what?’
‘That you were close to arresting him.’
Suttle stared at her, then produced his mobile. Moments later he was heading for the patio, trying to get a signal to raise D/I Houghton. When he left the house he was still talking. He didn’t say goodbye.
The club’s single was towed back to Exmouth by the trawler skipper who’d made the initial sighting. Molly Doyle and Clive, the Club Captain, were on the dockside to manhandle it out of the water, lash it to a roof rack and take it back to the club compound. An exhaustive search of the clubhouse had discovered no sign of a note from Pendrick or any other clue that might shed light on his disappearance. Neither was there anything in the single to suggest what had taken him to sea.
The search for a body, alive or dead, continued after dark. Two helicopters with infrared gear worked slowly offshore from Straight Point, a couple of miles to the east, following the tidal drift. It was blowing a Force 4 by now and the sea temperature was a bare 13 °C. The search was called off at 21.49, to be resumed at first light.
Thursday happened to be club night at the compound. News of Pendrick’s disappearance spread quickly. At Lizzie’s request Tessa had driven up to Colaton Raleigh and taken her and Grace back to the club. In the absence of Jimmy, she wanted to be close to people. The thought of an evening alone in Chantry Cottage filled her with dread.
Rumours had been circulating for nearly a week now about Lizzie and Pendrick. No one knew that she was married, let alone that she was wedded to a detective investigating Kinsey’s death, and she was touched by the number of near-strangers who offered her words of comfort. He may have made it ashore. He may still be out there. Don’t lose hope. Not yet.
Past ten o’clock, still at the club, her phone rang. It was a voice she didn’t recognise.
‘My name’s Dom,’ it said. ‘I live in the flat under Tom Pendrick’s place.’
‘You’re the chiropractor?’
‘The very same.’
He said he’d dropped by to pick up some paperwork and had found an envelope on his mat with her name and phone number on it. A couple of coppers had just been round and he understood that Tom, silly bugger, had gone missing. Maybe Lizzie ought to pop round and pick up the envelope. Sooner rather than later, eh?
It was Tessa, once again, who supplied the lift. Dom was a big man. He gave Lizzie a hug and kissed Grace and told her he was sure everything would turn out OK.
‘He’s wild, that Pendrick, but he knows the sea. He’ll be back. I know he will.’
He gave her the envelope and wished her luck. Lizzie opened it in the car. Two keys, both Yale. Tessa was about to take them back to Colaton Raleigh but Lizzie told her to hang on. She got out of the car and crossed the pavement. The lock on the street door at number 50 was a Yale. Lizzie struggled with the first key but the second was a perfect fit.
Lizzie returned to the car and bent to the window.
‘Here’s fine,’ she told Tessa. ‘You’ve been brilliant.’
Suttle was at home watching the late-evening news when the text arrived. He spared it a glance. It came from Lizzie. She’d be staying in Exmouth overnight with Grace and would be back in the morning. He put the mobile to one side. On his return from Middlemoor, hours earlier, he’d found a note on the kitchen table: ‘Gone to the club. Tess is sorting us out. No news yet.’
No news yet? Suttle was beginning to wonder whether it was worth sustaining a relationship on notes and texts and a great deal of silence. When he’d got back to the office, late afternoon, Houghton had been waiting for him. He’d already given her the bones of Lizzie’s news and now she wanted to know exactly what had been going on. Suttle had done his best. Through no fault of his own, his private life had overlapped with Constantine and finally been swamped. Lizzie, he said, had hooked up with Pendrick. He’d no idea how far the relationship had taken them both, but no way had it come to a clean end. At this point Houghton had nodded at his injured hand.
‘Pendrick?’
‘Yes, boss.’
‘You’ve assaulted a prime witness? Who turns out to be the killer?’
‘Yes, boss. A couple of good shots, if we’re talking detail.’
‘Pleased to hear it. So where is he?’
‘I’ve no idea.’