Malice in Cornwall by Graham Thomas Page A

don't you think? Corpses don't normally glow in the dark.”
    “No, I suppose not.”
    “We'll be able to make a closer examination tomorrow. In the meantime, it remains a riddle—” he smiled “—more grist for your newspaper mill. Now, another glass of wine?”
    “My round, I think.”
    “They'll drum you out of the reporter's union if you keep that up.”
    She smiled. “I think we're going to get along just fine, Powell.”
    Powell's buoyant response was cut short by the arrival of Sergeant Black.
    “Mr. Powell, Ms. Goode,” he said expectantly.
    Powell sighed. “Sit down, Black. How did it go?”
    “Butts sent over two of his men to lend a hand. We managed to get the thing bagged and put away for the night in the Polfrocks' shed. It's a bloody long slog with a wheelbarrow, I can tell you. The lads will be back out at the crack of dawn to have a good look around.” A pregnant pause.
    “I imagine you'll want to turn in early then,” Powell said.
    “Nonsense!” Ms. Goode protested. “You'll join us for a drink.”
    Black grinned from ear to ear. “Don't mind if I do, ma'am.”
    A few minutes later Sergeant Black was contentedly wiping the foam from his upper lip. “You know, sir, this business reminds me of a passage from
The Rime of the Ancient Mariner G
    Powell rolled his eyes. “Really?”
    “Yes, sir.” He cleared his throat.
    “The very deep did rot; O Christ!
That ever this should be!
Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs
Upon the slimy sea.”
    “Bravo, Sergeant Black,” Jane Goode cried. “Let's see, how does the rest go …
    About, about, in reel and rout
The death fires danced at night;
The water, like a witch's oils,
Burnt green, and blue and white.”
    Black looked pleased as punch.
    “I'm finding this gathering of the Penrick Literary Society extremely stimulating, but we've got an early day tomorrow,” Powell said tersely.
    Jane Goode seemed amused. “Speak for yourself.”
    “I thought you might like to tag along,” he said innocently.
    She looked at him with a curious expression on her face. “I don't get it.”
    “It's always been my policy to be completely open with the press.”
    “Really.” She looked doubtful.
    Not to be outdone in the literary quotation department, Powell smiled cryptically.
“Truth will come to light; murder cannot be hid long.”
    He was unknowingly prescient.

CHAPTER 5
    The next day started off on the wrong foot for Powell. He joined Sergeant Black for breakfast in the dining room at eight o'clock, but, disappointingly, Jane Goode was nowhere to be seen. After enduring the full English (consisting of a lonely rasher, an underdone sausage, and a slightly caramelized egg) he vowed never to take another meal at the Wrecker's Rest as long as he lived. And to top it all off, a few minutes later a beaming and effusive Mrs. Polfrock loomed large over their table exuding a miasma of lavender scent.
    “Chief Superintendent, I'd like you to meet my brother-in-law, Chief Inspector Butts. He'll soon sort things out, don't you worry.”
    And thus it was that Powell and Black were introduced to Chief Inspector Alfred “Buttie” Butts of the West Cornwall Division of the Cornwall and Devon Constabulary. Butts was a short, wiry, no-nonsense sort of person, who gave the impression that he knew everything there was to know about anything worth knowing and a few other things besides. To his credit, however, he didappear to be put off by his sister-in-law's lingering presence and took immediate steps to correct the situation.
    “Now, Agnes, old girl. If you'll just run along, my colleagues and I have some police business to discuss.”
    She flounced off in a huff.
    “You'll have to excuse my sister-in-law. Mr. Powell. She has a heart of gold, really, but she can be a bit overbearing at times.”
    Powell though it best to say nothing.
    “Yes, well, moving on to the business at hand,” Butts continued. “I've got my lads combing the beach where the body was