“Is that an official inquiry, Detective Sergeant?”
“I could use a beer, that’s all.”
“It’s possible there’s some Carlsberg in the icebox.”
Peel ducked into the cabin and emerged with two dripping-wet bottles and an opener. He pried the cap from one and handed it to Gabriel. “You didn’t run her aground or smash into anything, did you?”
“I had a couple of close shaves, but I was able to pull her back from the brink.”
“I had a rather close shave myself recently. A nasty piece of business in neighboring Somerset.” Peel opened the second Carlsberg. “But thanks to your friend Christopher, I came through it without a scratch.”
“And when the story broke about Charlotte Blake and the Picasso?”
“I played dumb, didn’t I?”
“My name come up?”
“Not at the headquarters of the Devon and Cornwall Police. And my colleagues from Avon and Somerset have no idea that you and Ingrid were ever in that manor house. It’s as if it never happened.”
“Is it really, Timothy?”
He drank some of the beer but said nothing.
“Can you ever forgive me?” asked Gabriel.
“For what?”
“Allowing you to be placed in a situation where you were forced to take two human lives.”
“It wasn’t your fault, Mr. Allon. It was your friend Christopher’s doing. Besides, the men I killed weren’t exactly pillars of the community, were they?”
“Neither were the men that I killed. But I paid a terrible price nonetheless. Killing people ruined my life, Timothy. I would hate myself if it ruins yours.”
“How much does Chiara know about what happened?”
“The basics.”
“Does she know that you threw yourself in front of Ingrid?”
Gabriel shook his head.
“Bravest thing I ever saw.”
“But you won’t mention it to her, will you? I’m in enough trouble as it is.”
“Don’t worry, Mr. Allon. It will be our little secret.” Peel glanced at the old foreman’s cottage. “Just the way it was when I was a kid. You looked after me back then. And now I’ll look after you.”
“I didn’t realize I needed looking after.”
Peel gave a knowing smile. “Did you or did you not purchase that rather large property at Gwennap Head?”
“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.”
