Page 151 of A Death in Cornwall

“Wherever did you hear that?”

“I stopped for a pasty at the Cornish Bakery the other day. Vera Hobbs told me everything. I only wish that I could have come to the party at the Lamb and Flag.”

“I could have used your help. They gave me quite a going-over.”

“It’s probably better if we keep our distance for a while. But I plan to be a frequent visitor to your Gwennap Head estate.”

“It’s a cottage, Timothy.”

“A very large cottage,” said Peel. “With one of the greatest views on earth.”

Gabriel gazed at the silver-black waters of the tidal creek. “This one isn’t so bad, either.”

Peel made no reply. He was looking down at his phone.

“Not another one,” said Gabriel.

Peel shook his head. “A minor inconsistency with a case I’m working on. A burglary ring operating out of Plymouth. We arrested one of its members yesterday morning, and he promptly gave up the rest of the crew.”

“And the inconsistency?”

“The exact number of jobs they pulled. They’ve confessed to twenty-three separate burglaries, but only twenty-two of them were reported to the police.”

“Which one wasn’t?”

“A house on Tresawle Road in Falmouth.”

“What did they steal?”

“A rare coin collection. Apparently, they got a couple thousand quid for it.”

“Have you spoken to the occupant of the house on Tresawle Road in Falmouth?”

“He hasn’t returned my call.”

“I’m not surprised.” Gabriel took a pull at the beer, then shook his head slowly. “Didn’t they teach you anything at detective school, Timothy?”

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Tresawle Road

“His name is Miles Lennox.”

“Sounds like a serial killer to me.”

“It’s a perfectly fine name.”

“For an axe murderer,” said Gabriel.

“Hatchet, Mr. Allon. The Chopper uses a hatchet.” Peel turned into Hillhead Road and streaked across darkened farmland toward Falmouth. “And I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for why he didn’t call us after his coins were stolen.”

“There is,” said Gabriel. “He didn’t call you because he didn’t want you to discover his collection of bloody hatchets.”

“It makes a certain amount of sense, I have to admit. He also happens to fit our profile. Right age, right height and weight, right marital status and occupation.”

“Rare coin collector?”

“Lorry driver. He works for a beverage distributor.”

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