Elizabeth George - A Suitable Vengeance

'I think it's a three-tiered operation, with a main supplier and perhaps half a dozen dealers. They seem to be running the cocaine in two possible ways: either the dealers pick it up from the supplier – perhaps on the Scillies – and then sail back to the mainland, or the supplier arranges to meet the dealers in any number of coves along the coast. Porthgwarra comes to mind at once. The shore's accessible, the village is too far off for anyone to notice clandestine comings and goings in the cove. The cliff is riddled with caves and caches in which an exchange could take place if it seems too risky to try it on the open sea. But, no matter how he gets it from his supplier, once the dealer has it – either from the Scillies or from one of the coves – he sails back to Lamorna in the Daze and then takes the cocaine to the mill at Howenstow where he packages it. With no-one the wiser.'

Penellin said, only, 'You know then.'

'Who is it that you've been trying to protect?' St James asked. 'Mark or the Lynleys?'

Penellin reached into his pocket and brought out a packet of Dunhills. Lynley reached across the table with the lighter. Penellin looked at him over the flame.

'It's a bit of both, I should guess,' Lynley said. 'The longer you keep silent, the longer you protect Mark from arrest. But keeping him from arrest makes him available to Peter unless you do what you can to keep them apart.'

'Mark's dragging Peter down,' Penellin said. 'He'll kill him eventually if I don't stop him.'

'Justin Brooke told us that Peter intended to make a buy here in Cornwall,' St James said. 'Mark was his source, wasn't he? That was why you were trying to keep them from seeing each other on Friday at Howenstow.'

'I thought Mark might try to sell to Peter and the girl. I've suspected him of dealing in drugs for some time, and I thought if I could just find where he was bringing the stuff in, where he was packaging it…' Penellin rolled his cigarette restlessly between his fingers. There was no ashtray on the table, so he knocked the growing cylinder of ash onto the floor and smashed it with his foot. 'I thought I could stop him. I've been watching him for weeks, following him when I could. I'd no idea he was doing it right on the estate.'

'It was a solid plan,' St James said, 'both parts of it. Using the Daze as a means of getting the cocaine. Using the mill to cut and package it. Everything was associated with Howenstow in some way. And since Peter was – and is – the known Howenstow user he stood to take the fall if things didn't work out. He'd protest his innocence wildly, of course. He'd blame Mark when it came down to it. But who'd believe him? Even yesterday, we immediately assumed he'd taken the boat. No-one even gave a thought to Mark. It was clever of them.'

Penellin's head lifted slowly at St James' final word. 'You know that part as well.'

'Mark didn't have the capital to orchestrate this alone,' St James said. 'He needed an investor, and I should guess it was Mick. Nancy knew that, didn't she? You both knew it.'

'Suspected. Suspected, is all.'

'Is that why you went to see him on Friday night?'

Penellin gave his attention back to the cigarette. 'I was looking for answers.'

'And Nancy must have known you'd be going there. So when Mick was killed she feared the worst.'

'Cambrey'd taken out a bank loan to update the newspaper,' Penellin said, 'but little enough got spent on that.

Then he started going all the time to London. And he started talking money to Nance. How there wasn't enough. How they were close to bankrupt. Rent money. Baby money. They were going to sink, according to Mick. But none of it made sense. He had money. He'd managed to get the loan.'

'Which he was investing rather copiously in cocaine.'

'She didn't want to believe he was involved. She said he didn't take drugs, and she wouldn't see that one doesn't have to take them in order to sell them. She wanted proof.'

'That's what you were after Friday night when you went to the cottage.'

'I'd forgotten that it was one of the Fridays when he did the pay envelopes. I'd thought he'd not be home and I'd be able to have a thorough search. But he was there. We had a row.'

St James took the Talisman sandwich wrapper from his pocket. 'I think this is what you wanted,' he said and handed it to Penellin. 'It was in the newspaper office. Harry found it in Mick's desk.'

Penellin looked the paper over, handed it back. 'I don't know what I wanted,' he said and gave a low, self-derisive laugh. 'I think I was looking for a typed confession.'

'This is more design than confession,' St James admitted.

'What does it mean?'

'Only Mark could verify it, but I think it represents the original deal the two of them struck together. 1 K 9400 would signify the cost of the original purchase of cocaine. A kilo for £9400. They'd split that between them to sell, which is what the second line tells us: 500 grams for each of them at £55 per gram. Their profit: £27,500 each. And, next to their profit, the particular talent each of them would bring to the plan. MP – Mark – would provide the transport in order to procure the drug. He'd take the Daze and meet the dealer. MC - Mick – would provide the initial financing from the bank loan he'd secured in order to purchase new equipment for the newspaper. And Mick covered himself by beginning those initial equipment purchases so no-one's suspicions would be aroused.' "Then it fell apart,' Penellin said.

'Perhaps. It could be that the cocaine didn't sell as well as they thought it would and he lost money on the deal. Perhaps things didn't work out between the partners. Or there may have been a double-cross somewhere down the line.'

'Or the other,' Penellin said. 'Go ahead with the other.'

'That's why you're in here, John, isn't it?' Lynley asked. 'That's why you're saying nothing. That's why you're taking the blame.'

'He must have discovered how easy it was,' Penellin said. 'He didn't need Mick once he'd made the initial purchase, did he? Why bother with an added person who'd expect part of the profits?'

'John, you can't take the blame for Cambrey's death.'

'Mark's only twenty-two.'

'That doesn't matter. You didn't-'

Penellin cut Lynley short by speaking to St James. 'How did you know it was Mark?'

'The Daze. We thought Peter had taken her to get away from Howenstow. But the boat was northeast on the rocks at Penberth Cove. So she had to be returning to Howenstow, not leaving. And she'd been there for several hours when we arrived, so there was plenty of time for Mark to abandon her, to make his way back to Howenstow, and be ready – somewhat banged up admittedly – to help us search for Peter.'

'He'd have needed to abandon her,' Penellin said numbly.

'The cocaine gave him good enough reason to do so. If anyone at Penberth phoned the coastguard, he'd be in serious trouble. Better risk his life by jumping ship near the shore than risk a gaol sentence by getting caught with a kilogram of cocaine on the boat.'

'John,' Lynley said insistently, 'you've got to tell Boscowan the truth. About all of this. About Friday night.'

Levelly, Penellin looked at him. 'And what of Mark?' he asked. Lynley didn't reply. Penellin's features became a wash of anguish. 'I can't do what you ask of me. He's my son.'

Nancy was working in front of the lodge while Molly cooed in a pram nearby, gurgling over a string of bright plastic ducks which her mother had suspended above her. When Lynley pulled the car to a halt on the drive, Nancy looked up. She was raking up the foliage, flowers, loose pebbles and debris that the wind had blown up against the house.

'No word of Peter?' she asked, walking towards them as they got out of the car. 'Is Mark here, Nancy?'