Page 46 of A Death in Cornwall

“Ever take long walks in the countryside?”

“Most weekends, actually.”

“What sort of boots do you wear?”

“Wellingtons.”

“Do you happen to own a pair of Hi-Tecs? Size nine and half?”

“I’m a ten.”

“Mind if I have a look in your closet?”

“I’m late for work.”

“I’ll need to see that hatchet of yours as well.”

“Do you have a warrant?”

“I don’t,” admitted Peel. “But I can get one in about five minutes flat.”

***

Peel left Penhallow Road at half past eight with the hatchet sealed in an evidence bag. While driving back to headquarters, he listened to the news on Radio 4. Not surprisingly, the Great Torrington slaying was the lead story. There was mounting pressure on the Metropolitan Police, which held legal jurisdiction throughout England and Wales, to take control of the investigation. Were that to happen, Peel would return to normal duty at the CID. His typical caseload consisted of narcotics investigations, sexual and physical assaults, antisocial behavior, and burglaries. The Chopper case, for all its gore and long hours, had been a welcome break in the monotony.

The headquarters of the Devon and Cornwall Police were located in Sidmouth Road in an industrial section of Exeter. Peel arrived a few minutes before ten and headed straight for DI Tony Fletcher’s office. Fletcher was the lead detective on the Chopper investigation.

“How much time do we have left?” asked Peel.

“The announcement will be made at noon, but the lads from London are already on their way down here.” Fletcher looked at the evidence bag in Peel’s hand. “Where did you get that?”

“Neil Perkins.”

“The schoolteacher from Newquay?”

Peel nodded.

“Does he have an alibi?”

“A lousy one, but he’s a size ten.”

“Close enough for me.”

“Me, too.”

“Type up your notes,” said Fletcher. “And be quick about it. As of noon, we’re officially off the case.”

Peel sat down at his desk and updated Perkins’s existing file with a description of the morning’s interview and search. By 12:00 p.m. the file was in the hands of a ten-person team of detectives and forensic analysts from the Metropolitan Police, along with a Magnusson Composite hatchet and a copy of a sales receipt from the B&Q in Falmouth. So, too, was the blood-soaked clothing worn by Professor Charlotte Blake on the night of her murder near Land’s End. The professor’s Vauxhall, having been swept for evidence, was locked up in the Falmouth auto pound, but her mobile phone remained unaccounted for. Also missing was a yellow legal pad discovered on the desk in Professor Blake’s cottage in Gunwalloe. Peel told DI Tony Fletcher that he must have mislaid it.

“Did it contain anything interesting?”

“Some notes about a painting.” Peel shrugged his shoulders to indicate the matter was of no relevance to the investigation. “Looked like it might have been a Picasso.”

“Never cared for him.”

You wouldn’t, thought Peel.

“For the life of me,” Fletcher continued, “I don’t understand why that woman was walking around Land’s End after dark when there was a serial killer on the loose.”

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