Bea and Havers made the walk. It took them to the top of the town where a roughly shaped triangle of maram grass and wild carrot was bisected by a road that led from lower Casvelyn to an area called the Sawsneck, where the upper crust from faraway cities had once come to spend their holidays in a line of grand hotels at the turn of the twentieth century. These were now seriously down at heel.
The aforementioned Lily turned out to be a golden retriever who was joyfully bounding through the heavy-topped grass in delighted pursuit of a tennis ball. Her master was lobbing this as far as he could across the down by means of a tennis racket onto which the dog cooperatively deposited the ball once she’d nosed it out of the copious undergrowth. He was garbed in a green waxed jacket and Wellingtons, with a peaked cap on his head that should have looked ridiculous?so achingly I’m-a-man-in-the-countryside?but somehow instead made him look like a model in Country Life. It was the man himself who managed this. He was the sort one had to identify as “ruggedly handsome.” Bea could see his appeal for Aldara Pappas.
It was windy on the down, and Max Priestley was the only person there. He was calling encouragement to his dog, who seemed to need little enough of it although she was panting rather more heartily than might have been good for an animal her age and in her condition.
Bea began to hike in Priestley’s direction, Havers trudging behind her. There were no paths as such on the down, just beaten trails through the grass and standing pools of rainwater where depressions in the land marked the ground. Neither of them had the proper shoes for a walk in the place, but Sergeant Havers’ high-top trainers were at least preferable to Bea’s street shoes. She cursed as her foot sank into a hidden puddle.
“Mr. Priestley?” she called as soon as they were within hearing distance. “Could we have a word please?” She began to reach for her identification.
He seemed to focus on her fiery hair. “You’d be DI Hannaford, I presume,” he said. “My reporter’s been getting all the pertinent details from your Sergeant Collins. He apparently holds you in some considerable respect. And this is Scotland Yard?” in reference to Havers.
“Correct on both fronts,” Bea told him. “DS Havers.”
“I’ll need to keep Lily moving as we talk. We’re working on her weight. Getting it off, that is. Putting it on hasn’t been a problem, as she shows up at mealtimes as regular as a ne’er-do-well brother, and I’ve never been able to resist those eyes.”
“I’m a dog owner myself,” Bea said.
“Then you know what I mean.” He batted the ball some fifty yards and Lily went after it with a yelp. He said, “I expect you’ve come to talk about Santo Kerne. I reckoned someone would be here eventually. Who gave you my name?”
“Is that an important detail?”
“It could only be Aldara or Daidre. No one else knew, according to Santo. The world’s general ignorance of the arrangement, he was very good to point out, would prevent damage to my ego should my ego be inclined towards damage. Kind of him, wouldn’t you say?”
“Tammy Penrule knew, as things turn out,” Bea told him. “At least she knew part of it.”
“Did she indeed? So Santo lied to me. Unbelievable. Who would have expected dishonesty from such a sterling bloke? Did Tammy Penrule give you my name?”
“No. Not Tammy.”
“Daidre or Aldara then. And of the two of them, I’d think Aldara. Daidre plays her cards quite close.”