DI Giles BoxSet

by Anna-Marie Morgan

  She watched her detective sergeant as he slapped his outgoing colleague on the back. He had an easy confidence with colleagues and superiors, alike. She wished she could say the same about herself.

  14

  He was seated at the back of St. Cynllo's. The church was full, as he had known it would be, for the festival of the Eucharist. The reverend was late. Duly noted. The congregation chatted in low voices, while he stared at the door. When Meirwen Ellis finally entered, it was obvious she was tired and tense, and he knew why.

  Meirwen's husky voice filled the room. “Before we begin this celebration of the Eucharist, I would like us to remember, this day, our beloved friend Reverend David Davies who was, so cruelly, taken from us. Let us give thanks for having known him and for all that he did for this parish. We will start with two minutes' silence.”

  He didn't want to be here for the silence, but chose not to draw attention to himself by leaving the room. He had seen all he needed, but would wait until later, as everyone stood to sing the first hymn, before slipping out of the church and into the graveyard.

  He found the gravestone quickly, the cryptic carvings and lack of name confirming it was the one. From his holdall he withdrew a plastic bag. Pulling on his gloves, he removed a bloodied white collar and placed it at the foot of the stone. It had begun to smell bad, and he held his breath as he pulled away. He wished he could be here, when they discovered it, but that would be too risky. As he left, he could hear the sheep in the field and feel the peace of the place. When he had finished here, those bleats would be replaced by screams.

  15

  Yvonne pulled into the car park of the tiny hospital in Llanidloes. She was late and cross with herself, having already cancelled the appointment twice this month. Another cancellation, they said, and she'd be crossed off the list. They explained she was lucky they still had outpatient facilities in Llanidloes: the hospital was under constant threat of closure. She rubbed her scar. It was sore and tight, pulling when she ate, and tightening painfully when she smiled. Her physiotherapy was long overdue.

  The nurse sent her to the small waiting area in the corridor, just inside the entrance. She read the various leaflets pinned on the notice board and flicked through a couple of magazines. Her thoughts turned to the priest killer.

  She felt jinxed, as though evil had followed her from Oxford. She felt tainted by it; could taste the bitter tang of blood in her mouth, just as she had when her jaw was broken by the sadist. If she didn't know he was still resident in maximum security, she would have feared that he had followed her here. As it was, the guilt she felt at the tragedy befalling her new home was baseless.

  “Yvonne Giles.”

  Yvonne came to her senses, and her eyes met those of the female physiotherapist. “Yes.” She rose from her seat and followed her into a small room, packed with more equipment than it was designed to hold.

  She sat as instructed and waited for discomfort.

  The clear gel was cold on her jaw, but soon heated up when the probe began massaging.

  “This will loosen it up for you.” The physiotherapist was cheery as she pressed hard with the probe, moving it around. “Ultrasound is very effective, but you must exercise your jaw, as has been explained to you. Pulling faces is a necessary evil.” Her torturer smiled and Yvonne winced, as the probe hit a particularly sore part.

  When the session was finished, Yvonne rubbed her scar and grimaced. “Thank you.”

  “You're welcome. Now don't forget to exercise.”

  “I won't.”

  16

  DCI Llewelyn’s face was as dark as cumulonimbus, as Yvonne got out of her car. He said nothing when she approached and gave her apologies.

  Finally, he motioned her over to his black Astra. “Get in.” He threw open the passenger door.

  “Where are we going?” she asked, throwing her handbag into the footwell.

  “Nantmel. We're going to join the forensic team there. A bloodstained, clerical collar has been discovered in the churchyard.”

  “Oh no, not another victim...”

  “I hope not.” His lips were a stern line, as the engine whirred into life.

  They said little on the way to Nantmel. His driving was fast but competent, and the DI felt safe enough. She opened and closed her mouth, taking the chance to flex her jaw, as instructed by the nurse. He glanced at her and she stopped flexing. He said nothing, but thought she caught a knowing look in his eyes.

  SOCO and uniform were already at work in the the circular churchyard. The press had gathered outside of the church gate and Meirwen Ellis was inside. DCI Llewelyn walked over to the reporters and cameras. The hand he placed in the small of Yvonne's back indicated to her that he expected her to head on into the church, and this she duly did.

  She found a hunched figure, sat in a pew, her head resting on her hands.

  “Reverend Ellis?”

  “Yes.” The small-framed reverend was clearly shaken up. “Please, call me Meirwen.”

  “DI Yvonne Giles...err...Yvonne.”

  “Am I on the hit list?” Meirwen's eyes were very large in her ashen face.

  Yvonne took hold of the reverend's cold hands. “I don't know,” she answered, truthfully. “We'll assign protection to you for the time being. There will be officers with you at all times until we know what we are dealing with.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Did you notice anything unusual during your sermon this morning? Anyone you didn't recognise?”

  “No, but then I was a bit distracted...you know...after Reverend Davies...”

  She didn't need to say anymore, the DI slowly blinked both eyes in affirmation.

  “Have you noticed anyone hanging around the area over the last week or two? Anyone walking around the churchyard?”

  “I'm sorry, no.” Meirwen thought for a moment before adding, “but, the church was very full today – a good turn out for the Eucharist.”

  “Is that usual?”

  “Numbers vary, and when the church is full its hard to say how many strangers there are, especially when your mind wanders...”

  “That is assuming whoever left the collar is a stranger.”

  Meirwen shuddered. “I hope it's nobody close to us.”

  “May I look around?”

  “Of course.”

  “Thank you.” Yvonne cast her eyes over the pews, the altar and the pulpit. The light entering the windows picked out the tiny particles of floating dust, sending a myriad coloured rays down into the space. A fitting place for God, she thought.

  When DCI Llewelyn joined her, he appeared dishevelled. He clearly hadn't had a good time with the press.

  “That's odd...” Meirwen picked one of the bibles from a pew at the back of the room.

  “What is?” Yvonne rushed to where the Reverend was standing.

  “This bible, it's been vandalised.”

  Yvonne studied the faded, leather book in question. 'FE GODWN NI ETO', had been scrawled on the front. A symbol had been roughly drawn next to the words: it resembled two crossed sickles dissected by a spear.

  “Is this graffiti new?” Yvonne took a pair of latex gloves from her bag, to properly examine and bag the book.

  “It must be,” Meirwen nodded emphatically. We regularly check the bibles and I've never seen this before.”

  “What does it mean?” Yvonne asked, recognising the words as Welsh.

  “It's the slogan and symbol of the FWA – the Free Wales Army.” Meirwen frowned. “They haven't been active since the nineties. 'Fe Godwn ni eto' means 'we will rise again'.”

  “Do you know any Welsh nationalists, reverend?” DCI Llewelyn took his hands out of his pockets, to examine the bagged book.

  “No, I don't.” Meirwen shook her head.

  “Once the bible has been photographed, and SOCO have checked around, we'll take it for forensic examination.” Yvonne closed her notebook.

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Thank you, Meirwen, for
your time. You'll be assigned protection. Here is my card, for if you need to speak to me, or if you think of anything else.”

  Meirwen took the card, her expression taut, as she turned to leave. The DCI followed Yvonne out of the church.

  He fired up the engine. “You're quiet.” It sounded like an accusation.

  “Am I?” Her thought-train broken, she turned her gaze on the DCI.

  His eyes remained forward. “You haven't said a word since we left Nantmel. Are you annoyed at me for asking questions in the church?”

  “Why would I be annoyed?”

  “You might think I'm interfering in your investigation.”

  Yvonne shrugged. “Yes, I might.”

  “I'm a police officer, Yvonne. I can't just turn that off.”

  “Actually,” she said, cutting across him. “I was thinking about her.”

  “Who? The reverend?”

  “Yes. I think the killer may be someone she knows.”

  The DCI threw her a quizzical look. “Who?”

  “She said she hadn't noticed anyone out of place at her sermon. Now, I know she said that she was distracted, because of the murders, but I walked around that church. I went up into the pulpit. Every position, every face would have been visible to her. A new face would have stood out. Would have pricked her subconscious, distraction or no.”

  “Someone other than the killer may have left the graffiti.”

  “I know, but I think it highly likely he did it and disguised his writing using capitals. My intuition is telling me this is a lone killer, and the slogan is a red herring, but I'll find out what I can about the Free Wales Army.”

  17

  On their return to the station, Dewi was calmly collating all the information on the main board: adding photographs and drawing arrows, cross-linking all of the elements he could.

  “Good work, Dewi.” She smiled at her sergeant. “I'll make good use of that, later.”

  Dewi rewarded her with a big grin. “Thanks. I need to speak to you actually, 'bout a guy who called earlier...”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Historian, apparently, said his name was Rhys Thomas. Said he could help us explain the killer's messages.”

  Yvonne pursed her lips. “Thank you, Dewi. Get him in. We'll talk to him.”

  18

  Tell me about the nightmares.” Dr Rainer, the occupational health psychologist, rested her chin on her hands and waited patiently for an answer.

  Yvonne sighed, here under duress. This was just one of many psych sessions she'd agreed to, to be allowed back to work. She didn't feel she needed any more sessions, but she was suffering from nightmares.

  “Do any involve the sadist?” Rainer prompted.

  She shook her head. Her gaze moved to the window behind, it was raining hard. Her eyes glazed over, hazing the streaks of water running down the glass. “I dream of tornadoes. A lot.”

  “Tornadoes?”

  “They always start as large, black clouds, moving in fast. Then they begin spinning and developing spirals which eventually touch down. I know they are coming for me and the people I care about. I'm filled with dread.”

  “What happens then?”

  “Sometimes, I wake up at that point.”

  “What happens when you don't wake up?”

  “I'm lifted up and carried over fields, over cliffs, or over water.”

  “And how do you feel at that point?”

  “The strange thing is I almost like the fact I'm flying, and I can see a long way. I can see everything.”

  “And then?”

  “I'm too high up. Far, far too high. I know that when the tornado has finished with me, I'm going to fall a very long way. I know I'm going to die.”

  “You mentioned the tornadoes coming for people you care about.”

  “Sometimes, I'm not the one under threat. I know it's coming for my family, or friends, and I'm frantic, trying to get them to go to safety. I'm running to warn them. Those are the most terrifying dreams.”

  “What about frequency?”

  Yvonne shook her head.

  “Are the nightmares becoming less frequent?”

  “No. I don't know. I was having nightmares long before the sadist.”

  “After David?”

  Yvonne's eyes became shiny, betraying tears only barely held back. “Yes.” She swallowed hard.

  “You've been on your own for quite a while. It's not a bad thing, you know, to reach out to others. Do you think you've been closing yourself off?”

  “Yes...no...I don't know, maybe.”

  “And now you have a new case. A new killer.”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you really ready for that?”

  Yvonne snorted. “Don't worry, doctor, I'm being given the kid gloves treatment.” Her brow furrowed and she breathed out through her mouth.

  “DCI Llewelyn?”

  “He's watching my every move.”

  “You can understand why?”

  Yvonne felt raw. She knew she'd been churlisht, recently. Rainer could see into her, and she found the scrutiny uncomfortable. The doctor was always too close to the mark. She glanced at the clock, her signal to Rainer she wanted the session to end.

  “I'd like to see you again in three weeks.” The psychologist's voice was firm.

  “Yes, doctor.” The DI said, all the while wondering how she would get out of it.

  Her colleagues awaited her return. The bustle in the room died down as everyone turned to face the front. Yvonne stood by the board, prepped by Dewi.

  “I don't have to tell you how serious this situation is. Three murders inside of a month, and the killer is taunting us with trophies from the victims.” Yvonne's eyes sought every other pair of eyes in the room. “Dewi has kindly set out a map of events and listed the main characters on the board. Study it. I've put up a list of things we urgently need to know. He's going to kill again. He knows it. We know it. We have to stop him.

  “Three victims, all priests: one killed with blunt trauma to the head, another shot, and the other beheaded. All were mutilated. The obvious link is religion, but does anything else link these men? Second, the methods used have been changing, and parts of the signature altered. Why?”

  Yvonne paused, tapping her pen on her chin. “We have possible links to the 'Free Wales Army', thought to have been inactive for twenty years. Find out if there's been other, recent, nationalist activity - anywhere around Wales.”

  Yvonne was aware of DCI Llewelyn, at the back of the room, and made a conscious effort to slow down her speech. “Anyone have any thoughts?”

  “I don't buy the Free Wales Army link, ma'am.” Dewi folded his arms, leaning back against his desk. “It's just not how they operated, even when they were active. Murder was just not their thing.”

  “I'm inclined to agree, Dewi.” Yvonne nodded her answer. “Perhaps we have a loner who is trying to disguise that fact – trying to sound more powerful than he actually is. At face value, he has a grudge against the church but, there again, we need to be aware of the wider picture as we move forward. Keep your minds open.”

  “I'll be speaking to seniors,” the DI continued. “We may need other expertise. I worked with an excellent psychologist on my last case. She could be of benefit.”

  Christopher Llewelyn frowned, and Yvonne required his permission. She cleared her throat and shifted her weight from one foot to the other, she should have spoken to him first. In these times of recession, police budgets were diminishing and consultant fees amplifying.

  She continued, “you'll be working in pairs, questioning villagers and sifting through the lives of the victims. We should have the full forensic and ballistic picture sometime in the next few days, but we can't wait around in the meantime. We have uniform providing protection for the reverend at Nantmel. Find out what you can about her. Who are her associates? Was, or is, she an intended victim? If not, why not? Get out and about amongst other local churches in the area. What's been happen
ing in the ecclesiastical world? Any significant events? Any major changes to the way the church is run in Wales? We need a motive, and that means knowing a great deal more about the victims. Any questions?”

  Several heads shook in unison around the room. Everyone keen to get on with it.

  “Yvonne, can I have a word?”

  She'd been expecting this, but it still made her stomach clench. She followed the DCI to his room.

  He didn't waste any time. “Don't you think it would have been wise to speak to me before mentioning your psychologist friend?” He eyed her expectantly.

  “I'm sorry, sir, I guess I got carried away.” She looked down at her shoes and sighed.

  “I'm not saying it's not a good idea, I just don't know that I can stretch the budget that far.”

  He was considering it then. Yvonne looked up at him in hope.

  “I'll make inquiries, Yvonne.”

  “Thank you, sir.” She was genuinely grateful and her face lit up, giving her a very youthful air. “Thank you.”

  19

  A more serene and picturesque valley, Yvonne couldn't imagine. The abbey ruins, situated off the beaten track, were almost perfectly enclosed by the rolling hills. Very little remained of what must have once been an impressive structure. Destroyed during Henry VIII's dissolution of the monasteries, only small parts of the walls remained and, then, only between one and five stone courses in each section.

  Wandering around, she could easily have been walking amongst the freshly pounded ruins - there being no other indication of the time period she was in.

  She strolled over to the small lake, which would have held the Cistercian brothers' fish, and tried to picture David Davies walking his dog. This was the same route he had taken for many years. Where would the killer have hidden? Did he hide, or did he casually walk up to his victim prior to the killing? Did he engage him in conversation? She could imagine the reverend would have been trusting and unsuspecting. Easy prey.