President of the local sailing club and keeper of the hard-to-come-by moorings in Penzance Harbor. “And did Ronnie Mills allow you to board my vessel?”
“He might have.”
Gabriel frowned. “I have another tip for you, DI Peel. It concerns the identity of the burglar who broke into that shop in Wharf Road.”
“Ronnie’s alibi checks out.”
Vera Hobbs appeared with Gabriel’s order.
“Breakfast of champions,” said Peel.
“Cornish champions, at least,” added Gabriel, and sliced into the flaky crust of the pasty.
“Chicken,” said Peel disapprovingly. “Always the chicken.”
“You have something against chicken, Timothy?”
“I’m quite fond of it, actually. But you might try the beef on occasion.”
“I do.”
“In all the years I’ve known you, I have never once seen you eat a beef pasty.”
Timothy Peel had been all of eleven years of age when Gabriel first made his acquaintance. They had lived next door to one another in the Lizard town of Port Navas. Peel was the neglected son of divorced parents, and Gabriel was the reclusive foreign gentleman who spent his nights restoring paintings and his days sailing the Helford River on a lovingly restored wooden ketch. He had bequeathed the boat to Peel when his old service called him out of retirement, thus the new Beneteau.
He poured a few ounces of milk into his cup and added the hot tea. Timothy Peel sighed. “Tea first, Mr. Allon. Then the milk.”
“It is a scientific fact that milk first produces a superior cup of tea.”
Peel took out a detective’s notebook. “Shall we? I haven’t got all day.”
“By all means. I wouldn’t want to keep you from your appointed rounds.”
“This conversation never happened. Are we clear?” Peel opened the notebook. “Your friend Edward Knight has no criminal record whatsoever. He has, however, been the target of numerous investigations by His Majesty’s Revenue and Customs regarding his payment of taxes, or lack thereof.”
“I’m shocked to hear that.”
“As was I,” added Peel archly.
“What about Wickham House?”
“He paid sixty million for it—in cash, by the way. The owner of record is the Knight Group Limited.”
“Does he own any other properties in our little corner of Britain?”
“A shopping center in Plymouth and another one in Exeter. He also owns a large tract of land along the North Devon coast.”
“What about Alice?”
“I’m not sure whether anyone owns her.”
“I was referring to run-ins with the authorities.”
“Two arrests,” said Peel. “Both while she was a student at Cambridge.”
“For what?”
“Political protests. The Iraq War, Palestine, the usual. She should have been arrested a third time, but the DI handling the case was overruled by his chief constable.”
