Catch The Stinger, Before It Stings You! Read online

  CHAPTER THREE

  The entrance into the long, tree-lined driveway of the Penventon Park Hotel was covered in pink blossom. The large Georgian mansion was grand by Redruth standards, hosting 64 bedrooms. The grounds outside the hotel accommodated a nightclub and a small pub for teens and twenties.

  Guthrie headed towards the hotel dressed in a pair of black trousers, white shirt and new grey tie to match his grey tweed jacket. As with all his coats and jackets, this one was lined with bullet proof fabric, slimmer than the conventional vest but more effective.

  A Mercedes was blocking the door into the hotel reception. Dropping his cigarette butt he squeezed through the gap behind the car boot, and entered the hotel vestibule. Of course, he had not come here for pleasure; it was merely the start of a long process of elimination. Who killed Stella? Who had set him up? Who was the mole? As far as he was concerned, everyone was a suspect.

  Piran Trelawney was already seated at one of the tables in the restaurant when he entered. His friend had not changed much since they had first met as freshers; retaining his blonde Adonis looks and big blue eyes.

  ‘Ah, Guthrie, I’d like to introduce you to my father-in-law, Jonathan.’ He focussed on the tall, grey haired man sitting opposite. ‘Jonathan, meet my good friend from university, Henry Guthrie.’

  The men shook hands.

  ‘Jonathan works in bio physics,’ Piran explained. ‘He’s based at a private hospital.’

  ‘Actually, we’ve met before, sir,’ Guthrie smiled at the older man. ‘At your daughter Olivia’s wedding.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I forgot you’d met at my wedding,’ Piran laughed.

  ‘I was still married to Olivia’s mother then,’ Jonathan explained. ‘As you probably know I’ve since remarried and have two more daughters.’’

  ‘So how’s life treating you, Piran?’ Guthrie asked. ‘And how’s Olivia?’

  ‘She’s still trying out new diets, nothing seems to work.’

  ‘Oh, dear. I have heard of a new drug that can burn fat, perhaps she could try that,’ Guthrie suggested. He felt sorry for Olivia with her frizzy ginger hair, round spectacles and weight problem.

  ‘Have you heard of this drug, Jonathan?’ Piran asked.

  ‘Yes, I have actually.’

  ‘Can’t you prescribe it for her?’

  ‘No, unfortunately not, Piran, it hasn’t been licensed here yet.’

  ‘Well, surely you could slip her a bottle of them, not tell anyone, or say it’s a clinical trial.’

  ‘Certainly not. I have never done anything underhand in all the years I’ve been a doctor, and I don’t intend to start now,’ he retorted. ‘You’ll just have to continue with your philandering like you’ve always done.’

  Guthrie loved Piran like a brother, but he knew his best friend had never been faithful to his wife, and sadly for Olivia, she also knew.

  ‘So how’s your family, Guthrie?’ Piran digressed.

  ‘My mother still lives in Ilford, but finding the shops too far to walk these days. My youngest sister has just divorced and moved in with my mother, along with her two children.’

  ‘Well, at least she’ll be able to help your mother, I suppose.’

  ‘Doubt it, she’ll be out clubbing every night knowing her,’ Guthrie laughed. ‘At least they live near the park, which will be nice for the kids.’

  ‘Oh, I know the one you mean,’ Jonathan joined in. ‘Valentines Park, it has its own boating lake. It used to have a swimming pool. Lovely place, I had a colleague who lived in Gants Hill.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I know it, just on the other side of the park.’

  ‘There was a fairly large Jewish community living there in the 60s. But now, they’ve all moved out due to the immigrants,’ Jonathan complained. ‘All one sees there now are saris and burqas; one can’t see a white face for love nor money.’

  Guthrie did not say a word, but he caught sight of Piran, face to the floor, fists clenched tight.

  After a few moments of awkward silence, Piran said, ‘Guthrie wants to ask you about the job on offer at Treliske Hospital.’

  Recalling the recent phone conversation with Piran, regarding a vacancy for hospital courier, Guthrie had been more than surprised to learn that Jonathan had agreed to get personally involved.

  ‘Piran, you should know by now that’s it’s no longer called Treliske, but The Royal Cornwall Hospital,’ Jonathan corrected his son-in-law.

  ‘Just because they’ve upgraded the buildings, Jonathan, doesn’t change the fact it started out life as Treliske. Everyone in Cornwall still calls it that and will continue to do so.’

  Guthrie observed them both, the young man calm and happy-go-lucky, as always. The older man, pale and agitated, as if he did not want to be there.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind, Guthrie,’ Jonathan said, ‘but I’ve already discussed it with the relevant people and they have agreed to take you on a trial period, if that’s okay with you?’

  Pouring a glass of iced water from the jug, Guthrie smiled. ‘Thank you, Jonathan, much appreciated.’

  ‘Only a three month trial on basic pay, after which, if they’re happy, you’ll be offered a contract and pay rise. You can start this afternoon if you like.’

  Piran looked to Guthrie eagerly.

  Guthrie replied with a nod.

  ‘There you are then, all done and dusted,’ Piran laughed, trying to keep the mood upbeat.

  During their meal they made small talk, until Piran brought up the inevitable, Stella’s death.

  ‘Jonathan, what has always puzzled me is, how was it that Guthrie was charged with that woman’s murder, what’s your take on it?’

  ‘Well, from what I read in the report, the bloods were found to be contaminated with Apitoxin, honey bee venom.’

  Guthrie bit his lip, too painful for so many reasons. Of course he had never told Piran that Stella was his lover, it was safer that way, only his family knew.

  Jonathan wiped the edge of his mouth with a serviette. ‘I believe the lady who died was your colleague at a courier firm you worked for, is that correct, Guthrie?’

  ‘Yes, we’d gone for a long weekend break to Belgium. With my other workmates I mean, about a dozen of us,’ he lied, wanting to dissolve into the white tablecloth. He needed a cigarette.

  ‘Arsenic was also found on the inside of the corpse’s mouth. Well, according to the media,’ Jonathan added, crossing and re-crossing his legs. ‘Apparently, a syringe was found in Guthrie’s hotel room in Antwerp containing the said chemical.’

  ‘My defence also mentioned a dead bee that was found near her body,’ Guthrie added. ‘They wanted to run more tests on the bee, but the prosecution wouldn’t agree to it, and then, suddenly it disappeared.’

  ‘How on earth could a jury or even the police think you did it?’ Piran asked. ‘I mean, if you were guilty then why would you have kept the incriminating evidence in your hotel room?’

  Before he had a chance to respond they were interrupted by the waitress with their desserts.

  A pianist began to play the baby grand in the corner, beside a window that looked out onto a flower bed. The flowers reminded him of Stella’s painted, wooden clowns that she made as a hobby. Covered in blues, reds, greens and yellows; just like their couch, table and remote control. Everywhere he looked there was a memory of her, in a floating cloud, a feather pillow, even in the biscuit tin. He missed her as if she was just a heartbeat away.

  ‘So what brings you down to the west country?’

  ‘Don’t know really, Jonathan, just fancied a change, and Piran suggested I moved nearer to him.’

  ‘I see, how thoughtful of you, Piran.’ Jonathan focussed on the strawberry Pavlova, eagerly dipping his spoon into the meringue. ‘So you both met at Exeter University, lovely campus. Did you also read law, Guthrie, is that how you and Piran both became friends?’

  ‘No, I read philosophy.’

  ‘We first met on the university cricket team,’ Piran laughed. �
�And then we found ourselves in the same class for jurisprudence. We got on so well we decided to share a room.’

  ‘So, you didn’t go on to make your fortune after graduating, I presume?’ Jonathan almost sniggered. ‘Well, I’m afraid to say you need ambition. Without it, then what’s the point to life?’

  But, there was something crucial that Guthrie had not told him, such as the 15 years immediately after graduation. Headhunted by British Intelligence during the university ‘milk round’, he had signed up then and there. Although, he had told his mother that he was in Italy teaching English as a foreign language. Even Piran did not know about those missing years. He could have been a millionaire several times over by now, but had given a large chunk of the money to his family. The rest was in investments and policies, which he was unable to access until December, when he turned 40, and that was 8 long months away.

  ‘I wouldn’t be where I am without ambition,’ Jonathan continued the lecture. ‘It’s lucky you haven’t got a wife or how would you support her? You need to learn a trade, get some training.’

  Guthrie wanted to smack him on the chin. Before he got the chance to respond, Piran and Jonathan nipped off to the toilet.

  Taking the opportunity to have a quick drag on a cigarette, he thought back to his own training, it was the best. In those first years he trained with the commandos, marines, SAS and Interpol to name but a few.

  Stella knew about training, she was also an agent; he had lived with her for 3 years. They usually worked separately, but, on that last contract in December 1996, they had decided to join forces to get the job done by Christmas. It was code-named Marzipan. Their mission had been to assassinate an arms dealer by the name of Sebastian Dubois.

  It had been easy to track him down to Ostend. They had chosen to stay at a hotel in Antwerp, a safe distance from their target. The flipping of a franc decided who would do the deed. Stella lost, and stayed back at the hotel to do some Christmas shopping, while he went off to sniper his prey. As there were as many diamond clusters crowding shop windows, as there were Hasidic Jewish clusters crowding the Antwerp streets, he had wondered if that trip would be the right time to suggest the inevitable. Antwerp was the perfect place to buy an engagement ring. But, he never did buy one, as the moment he returned to the hotel room he found Stella lying in a pool of blood. Before he had a chance to check her pulse the door burst open, and a herd of armed gendarmes rushed in. He could still hear their voices, shouting, yelling; could still feel the kicks and punches.

  Judge, jury and lawyers were all in a hurry to close the case to get home for the holiday, justice came last. The problem that he was unable to disclose where he had been at the time of the murder, due to the nature of his work, did not help. It took a year before he was finally released, which confirmed there was a mole in the works, as his contact in MI6 had failed to respond to his numerous requests for assistance. Whoever had orchestrated this, had wanted Dubois killed, but why kill Stella? That was the riddle yet to be solved. Taking another drag on his cigarette, he thought how ironic that Belgium now had the Euro and not the franc; maybe if a Euro had been tossed it would have landed in Stella’s favour.

  Suddenly, he noticed an envelope lying on the floor near Jonathan’s attaché case. Slyly retrieving it, he took a quick glance at the address on the back of the unopened letter. It was from the director of the Eden Project in St. Austell, it was addressed to a Matthew Trembath at a Cornish bee farm.

  When the men returned to the table they were deep in conversation.

  ‘What utter rubbish, Piran,’ Jonathan laughed. ‘I’ve never heard of bees used for chemical warfare.’

  ‘It has been known that during the cold war the MOD used fleas injected with arsenic.’

  ‘Well, I have never heard of that, think you’ve been watching too much TV,’ Jonathan mocked. ‘I mean, do you seriously think a country at war would have the time to get enough bees to take down an enemy country?’

  ‘I bet they’ve experimented.’

  ‘There wouldn’t be enough bees on the planet to sting millions of people with some sort of chemical weapon. And why would they sting, unless every person was drenched in sugar or something of that sort?’ Jonathan continued to scoff. ‘I’ve never heard anything quite so ridiculous. You’ll be telling me next that there’s going to be a flea circus.’

  Guthrie decided to take the bull by the horns.

  ‘Have either of you heard of the Eden Project?’

  ‘No, I’ve no idea what that is, sorry,’ Jonathan replied. ‘Talking of arsenic, I recall when I was married to Phyllis, Olivia’s mother, and we went to see Arsenic and Old Lace performed by the local am-drams. Well, that night they’d actually used elderberry mead wine, without the knowledge of the actors. And so, they were all blotto by the curtain call, ha-ha.’

  But Guthrie was not listening, he was wondering if there was more to Jonathan than met the eye?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Truro is a small Cathedral city. In fact, it is Cornwall’s only city, where the rivers of Kenwyn and Allen converge becoming the Truro River. Residing between St. Austell and Redruth on the main train route from Penzance to Paddington, the area had been a settlement since prehistoric times once boasting a Norman castle. But now, it was the magnificent cathedral, and the new NHS hospital situated on the outskirts of Truro, that was the apple of the city’s eye.

  It was just gone 2.30 when Jonathan and Guthrie pulled up in front of the main doors of The Royal Cornwall Hospital in a mini cab.

  ‘The personnel officer is expecting you, her office is just inside the doors to the right.’

  ‘Thanks very much.’

  ‘Well, I must dash, good luck with the job.’

  ‘Thanks, appreciate it.’

  Before clocking in with the personnel officer, Guthrie decided to make a quick tour of the hospital.

  The buildings were numerous, and of various shapes and sizes. The complex was impressive. They had used Cornish driven names such as The Trelawney Wing, Lamorna House, Pendragon House and The Mermaid Centre. One of the wards was named after the Redruth tin mine, South Crofty. Soon he would have to waste valuable time riding up and down the dual carriageway in his new job as courier. His only consolation was, that it would only last a fortnight at most. Treliske Hospital was the reason for his move to Cornwall, due the cryptic letter he had received in prison. Now that he was here, everyone was a suspect. Stella’s murderer could be here, a nurse, a cleaner, he had no idea.

  Sitting down on a nearby bench, he took out the letter and re-read it for the umpteenth time.

  Hi Mr Guthrie, sorry to learn of your current plight and hope it’s not too bad in there. They don’t allow gifts or else I’d have sent you a book or something. Anyhow, I thought I’d write you a poem to cheer you up, seeing how you are a philosopher I thought you might like it: -

  ‘This reasoned evidence law is key. And is a high flyer with its new wing of the eagle numbered SW673455. A crown as sweet as honey on French Pancake Day, sweet as marzipan, sweet bee, the same day the star returned to heaven. Mine is the last of tin puzzles.’

  Good luck, Tom Smith

  Of course, he was not getting any younger, and even though it was not written in formal code, it still took longer than usual to decipher. But, time was something he had not been short of in prison. Taking the initial letters of each word on the first line it spelt TREL, and then, by adding, ‘is key’, he eventually worked out Treliske. Of course, he would have worked it out much sooner if he had known that such a place existed. By the time he looked it up on the web, Treliske Hospital in Truro had changed its name to The Royal Cornwall Hospital.

  He still did not know what high flyer meant, it could refer to an entrepreneur or politician perhaps. The star returned to heaven was easy, an obvious reference to Stella. As for the wing, well, the hospital certainly had a new wing, must have cost a bob or two. Brand spanking new, it had only just opened at a cost of £27 million.

  Th
e reference to honey most probably a reference to the bee found near Stella’s body. Yet what did pancakes have to do with anything? Marzipan was easy enough, but, who else would have known the code-name of that Belgium contract? Was the letter from someone with good intent, or was it from the mole himself, hoping to lure him out into the open?

  ‘Eagle,’ he said aloud. But, there were no eagles that he had noticed. Although, there was some sort of bird sanctuary near Hayle. Even so, he could not see what that would have to do with anything. On the other hand, the bald eagle was the symbol of the United States, perhaps Stella’s killers were Yanks.

  Taking out his notepad he wrote down:

  1. Treliske 2. Bees

  ‘You a doctor?’ a Cornish voice interrupted his jottings. It belonged to an elderly man wearing a blue striped dressing gown. He sat down beside Guthrie.

  ‘No, mate, about to start work here as a courier, so what are you in for?’

  ‘Gall bladder.’ His old, arthritic fingers fumbled about with sparse strands of tobacco in a tin.

  ‘Here, have one of mine.’ Guthrie offered the man the open packet.

  ‘Thanks, don’t mind if I do.’

  ‘So, what’s it like, you know, staying in the hospital?’

  ‘Well, ‘ee have to laugh, don’t ‘ee? I mean to say, they’ve spent Lord knows how much on these ‘ere buildings, probably come to a billion. Yet, the wards are still as dirty as ever.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.’

  ‘My wife died in this place. She’d had a stroke, but her nurse just shouted at her all the time. Told her that she could do more than she said she could,’ the old man confided. ‘Do more? She couldn’t damnee speak, couldn’t even walk. Yet this nurse shouted at her and made her cry.’

  ‘Perhaps you should have told someone?’