6 Port Navas

6 Port Navas

Detective Sergeant Timothy Peel, an eight-year veteran of the Devon and Cornwall Police, was assigned to the Chopper case

after the second killing, joining a team of four senior officers. His first assignment was to identify and question everyone

in southwest England, regardless of age or gender, who had recently purchased a hatchet. Late Tuesday afternoon he was crossing

names from his list when a call came through on the dedicated tip line. It was from a resident of Gunwalloe.

"Which one?"

"Vera Hobbs. Who else?"

"What seemed to be the problem?"

A light burning in the window of Professor Blake's cottage. Admittedly, Peel didn't think much of it at the time, so he contacted

a few more hatchet owners before ringing his colleagues at the Thames Valley Police. As it turned out, they were already looking

into the matter.

"TVP had made entry into Professor Blake's home in Oxford and checked all the hospitals in its jurisdiction. There was no

sign of her."

"What about her car?"

"I was the one who found it."

"Where?"

"The car park at the Land's End amusement center."

"If memory serves, there's a credit card kiosk there."

"The chit was displayed on her dashboard. The time stamp was 4:17 p.m. on Monday."

Gabriel cast his eyes to the west. "Less than a half hour before sunset?"

"Twenty-eight minutes, to be precise."

"Did anyone see her?"

"A receptionist arriving for work at the Land's End Hotel spotted a woman setting off along the coast path alone. We assume

it was Professor Blake."

"At four seventeen in the afternoon?"

"It's a beautiful spot at that time of day. But under the circumstances..."

It made no sense at all, thought Gabriel. "The newspapers were a bit vague as to the exact location of the crime scene."

"An overgrown hedgerow north of Porthchapel Beach. It looked as though the killer tried to conceal the body. Which is interesting,"

added Peel. "The previous four victims were left where they had fallen, with the backs of their skulls split by a single blow.

They were probably dead before they hit the ground."

"And Professor Blake?"

"He made a real mess of her. He also seems to have made off with her mobile phone."

"Did he take the phones of the other victims?"

Peel shook his head.

"Theory of the case?" asked Gabriel.

"My colleagues think Professor Blake must have heard the killer stealing up behind her. And when she turned around, she sent him into a rage."

"Which would explain the overkill."

"But not the missing mobile."

"She might have dropped it somewhere."

"We've swept the entire coast path and the area surrounding the hedgerow where the body was discovered. We found three old

mobile phones, none of them belonging to Professor Blake."

"And it's not emitting a signal?"

"What do you think?"

"I think you should make sure she didn't leave it in the car."

"I know how to search a car, Mr. Allon. The phone is gone."

Gabriel smiled in spite of himself. "And what about you, Detective Sergeant Peel? What's your theory?"

He ran a hand over the gunwale of the ketch before answering. "We've always been a bit cagey about some of the details of

the killings. The number of blows, the location, those sorts of things. It's standard procedure in a case like this. It helps

us weed out the cranks and kooks."

"What about copycats?"

"Those, too. After all, how could someone imitate the Chopper if he doesn't know his exact methods?"

"Do you believe Professor Blake was killed by a copycat?"

"I'm willing to entertain the notion."

"I don't suppose you've shared this theory with your fellow officers."

"I didn't think it would be wise for me to rock the boat on such an important investigation. Not at this stage of my career."

"Leaving you no choice but to pursue the matter independently." Gabriel paused, then added, "With the help of an old friend."

Peel made no reply.

"Does the chief constable know that you've contacted me?"

"It's possible I neglected to mention it."

"Good lad."

Peel smiled. "I learned from the best."

***

The parish of Gunwalloe lay ten miles to the west on the opposite side of the Lizard Peninsula. They drove there through the

gathering dusk in Gabriel's rental car.

"Do you remember the way?" asked Peel.

"Are you deliberately trying to annoy me, or do you come by it naturally?"

"A little of both."

They sped along the fence line of the Culdrose naval air station, then followed the nameless road that stretched from the

heart of the Lizard to Gunwalloe. Beyond the hedgerows lay a patchwork quilt of dormant farmland. Then the road twisted suddenly

to the left and the hedgerows fell away to reveal the sea, aflame with the last light of the setting sun.

Gabriel slowed as he entered the village. Peel pointed out the Lamb and Flag pub. "Shall we stop for a pint and a few laughs

with your old friends?"

"Some other time."

"I've always loved that song," said Peel. "Especially the Bill Evans version."

"You have good taste in music."

"I owe it to you."

They rolled past the Corner Market, where Dottie Cox was ringing up the day's last customer. Across a sloping field of purple thrift and red fescue was the fishing cove. A single cottage, faintly visible in the dying twilight, stood atop the cliff.

"Do you ever miss it?" asked Peel.

"Yes, of course. But Venice has its charms."

"Better food."

"I've always had a fondness for Cornish cuisine, myself."

"Perhaps you can spend a summer here with Chiara and the children."

"Only if you let me borrow that beautiful sailing vessel of yours."

"Deal."

Gabriel turned through a gap in a wind-bent hedgerow of blackthorn. Behind it stood stately Wexford Cottage, the finest cottage

in Gunwalloe. The windows were darkened, the shades tightly drawn. Adhered to the heavy wooden door was a notice declaring

the premises to be an active crime scene. Detective Sergeant Timothy Peel thrust a key into the lock and led Gabriel inside.