“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.
