“Do you have any firm suspicions about who that guest might have been. Anyone capable of such a risky gesture?”
“No, Inspector. I've not had any issues or bother with anyone at the club. Of course...” Griff continued, “there's a chance this wasn't a normal club member. We sometimes have fencers visit from other clubs, and there was a big competition coming up. This could easily have been someone from Shrewsbury, Wrexham or even further afield. Those clubs have a lot more members than our little club at Leighton. It's not unknown for Team GB fencers to pop in, every now-and-again.”
Yvonne had been afraid that Kevin would say that. They would, of course, chase up information regarding members of those other clubs, but that could take a long time, and they could end up hunting down the membership of half the clubs in Britain. This angle was beginning to look a lot less hopeful.
After the interview, Yvonne sat down for a coffee with DCI Llewelyn. “What do you think about the sword-between-the-eyes incident?”
“I think that could easily have been our man...it suggests arrogance and aggression. Fits our profile.”
“I agree. I had hoped the fencing angle might narrow things down for us, sir, but it's done the opposite. Our profile may have gotten Griff Roberts killed, and it may not yield us anything.” Yvonne cupped her head in her hands. She felt sick, and still couldn't forgive herself for either Griff or Meirwen's death.
39
St. Cynllo's, in Nantmel, was eerily silent. It seemed as though even the birds had deserted it. Yvonne waited for Tasha to catch up with her, as she entered the circular graveyard.
They had come to take a fresh look at where the killer had previously placed the bloodied collar. They'd brought with them some of the SOCO photographs, to enable them to orientate themselves.
The air was damp and cold. Yvonne's knees clicked loudly as she knelt next to the nameless tombstone. She closed her eyes. “Why is he leaving a collar, from the body of his previous kill, at the sites of his next victim?”
Tahsa considered. “I think he doesn't want to leave the door open for copycats. If we had a body without this calling card, we'd know it wasn't his work.”
“Because every kill has a significance to the story he's telling...”
“Yes. He's giving us the pieces of our jigsaw, piecemeal. He wants us to connect the dots, but only on his terms and according to his time-line.”
“I can't see anyone else wanting to copycat this.”
“Me neither, but he clearly wants to be sure they don't.”
“Why didn't he kill Meirwen on the day he left a collar here?”
Tasha sighed and rubbed her chin. “He may have been in two minds. Perhaps he knew her, liked her, and changed his mind last minute. Or it could just be that he was disturbed by something and fled.”
Yvonne couldn't imagine this killer fleeing from anyone. “He wanted her to know what was going to happen – keep her terrorised.”
“He was always going to pick her off at a time of his choosing. I have no doubt she was afraid, but we couldn't protect her because, for whatever reason, she didn't really want to be protected. Survivor guilt. I've seen it many times.”
“This was supposed to ward off demons!” A strangled, male voice came from behind them.
Yvonne swung round, heart in her mouth. “Hello? Who are you?” She took her ID from her pocket. “We're from Dyfed-Powys police. I'm DI Giles and this is Dr. Phillips. We're investigating the murder of the Reverend Ellis.”
The older man nodded “I know who you are.” He brushed his greying hair back from his face. “I'm Jim. I'm the verger, here. You're standing in a circular churchyard. They're supposed to ward off demons but that didn't work for Meirwen.”
Jim's face was drawn, dark semi-circles under his eyes. Tasha's eyes were gentle as she responded. “Demons were not responsible for Meirwen's death, Jim. A living, breathing human being was.”
Yvonne had an urge to comfort him, but held back. “Tell me about the circular churchyard.” Although voice was soft, her eyes were urgent as she rose from the earth. “I'd like to know more.”
Jim rubbed the small of his back with both hands, as though in some pain. “These churchyards go back to ancient Celtic times, when stone circles were used to carry out religious ceremonies. They're all over Wales.”
“So a stone circle would have been here, originally?”
“Yes. The circle of standing stones was called 'the Gorsedd' and they were used by pagans to carry out their rituals. The same circles were later adopted by the early Christians. Many churches in Wales were built on these ancient sites. The Welsh druids used the Gorsedd, and the National Eisteddfod is opened with a druid and bard's ceremony, in a stone circle, every year.”
“Is there still pagan practice in Wales, these days?”
“There are people who practice. I don't know much about them. White witches, they sometimes call themselves.”
“Do you know any?”
“No.”
“Jim, when was the last time you saw Meirwen?”
“The day she died.”
Tasha and Yvonne exchanged glances. Yvonne continued. “How did she seem to you?”
“Sad and scared. She hadn't been herself for weeks. I thought she was losing weight and I was worried about her. I gave all this information to the two officers who came to see me, a few days ago.”
“I know, forgive us, we're just clarifying a few things. What was she doing that day?”
“She'd given a morning sermon and performed a baptism. It was a normal sort of Sunday for her.”
“What time did you leave her?”
“Around two o'clock. She was going to stay awhile. She was sorting out music and hymn scores for a wedding, to be held here at the church. I didn't want to leave her alone, but she insisted. It was my daughter's twenty first birthday, you see, and myself and my wife were preparing everything for her party.”
“So you left at two o'clock.” Yvonne made notes. “Did she say how much longer she'd be here?”
“She said not much more than an hour.”
“Did you notice anything suspicious when you left? Vehicles parked up?”
“No, not that I recall, Inspector.”
“Any people around? Walkers? Cyclists?”
“No...none.”
“Did Meirwen say if she was expecting anyone?”
“She said she was going to finish up at the church and go straight home. She'd left a casserole on slow cook, in her oven.”
“What will happen here, now? Who looks after the congregation?”
“The vacancy will be advertised by the diocese. In the meantime, I will step up, to cover some of the sermons, to give as normal a service to the community as possible.”
“Speaking of which...” A voice boomed from the other side of the churchyard.
Yvonne recognised it immediately and every muscle tightened. “Peter Griffiths,” she called back. There was definitely something about him that made her uncomfortable.
He raised his eyebrows. “Do I know you? I'm sorry if I do, it's just not coming to me,” he said, as he was closing the gate behind him.
“We're police.” Yvonne felt perhaps she ought to be questioning Peter Griffiths under caution, but had no real basis for arrest. “I saw you talk at Newtown High school, a couple of weeks ago.”
“I see.” He seemed momentarily thrown, but quickly regained his composure. “I'm here to collect some of Meirwen's belongings for her family. We were friends. We'd been friends for several years.”
Yvonne thought about this. Since she'd watched him, at the meeting in Newtown High School, he'd been high on her suspect list. However, Meirwen had been at the meeting, and she was supporting him in his cause. If he was the killer, why would he kill someone who supported him? Besides, his being vocal about a decline in Welsh culture was hardly a crime.
Tasha was quiet, but the DI knew she would be weighing up both the verger and Peter Griffiths. Yvonne's voice
was firm, as she asked Peter Griffiths not to remove anything from the church until police had given the go ahead.
Yvonne arrived home, shattered. Throwing her bag onto the hall table, she went straight through to her kitchen and poured herself a cold glass of sauvignon blanc. After a fraught week, arriving home early was a luxury. She took her wine outside, to catch the evening sun.
The air was warmer than it had been, with the thick, sweet smell of late-summer flowers. Her view, over her low stone wall, went out for some distance - over the valley and to the hills beyond. She breathed deeply. It was good to be home.
Momentarily forgetting her troubles, she sat on the wall and looked back at her home. She loved it. It was quirky. Victorian Gothic, with interesting features everywhere she looked. It was also hard work, with almost constant maintenance. When Yvonne didn't have time to do it herself, which happened often, she would hire local lads from the village to help out. She'd decided on the house very soon after arriving in Wales and had been lucky. There was no onward chain. She felt content. Happiness had been a rarity for months, but she felt it now and wanted to hold onto it - for a little while.
“Is this a party for one or can anyone join in?” Tasha stood at the gated entrance to Yvonne's car park, with a bottle of wine and a great big grin.
Yvonne grinned back. “Well, since you've brought wine...”
“Great! What's for dinner?”
The DI laughed. “Beef tagliatta with Tuscan fries.”
“Wow! I have no idea what that is, but it sounds really good.”
“It will be, if you can keep me off the wine till I've cooked it.”
With Yvonne in full flow, a hot pan sizzling in front of her, Tasha poured her a fresh glass of red. The smell was driving the psychologist mad. “Can I do anything?”
“Nope, got it all under control.” Yvonne took a big glug from her glass. “Well, actually, you can lay the table, if you like.”
The steak rested, Yvonne cut it into diagonal strips and scattered it onto a large plate. Chopped tomatoes were dropped around the plate and the marinade drizzled over everything. The Tuscan fries, she tipped into a bowl and sliced up warm ciabatta, to accompany. Tasha looked as though she couldn't take it any longer.
Yvonne laughed at the look on her face. “Come on, let's get stuck in.”
There followed a couple minutes silence, save for the soft sound of munching.
“I'm not being ignorant,” Tasha said between mouthfuls. “This is just too damn good, for talking.”
“I'm glad it's that good.”
After the meal, and two glasses of wine, they retired to Yvonne's lounge.
“So, how's Kelly getting along? It must be difficult for you both, while you're down here.” Yvonne plumped herself onto the Chesterfield.
“It does take some getting used to. She's been working very long hours as well, and I do feel guilty being here, at times. She understands, though. We have a killer to catch.”
“Yes...this killer...I can't sleep. I keep going over and over everything. Almost every day, someone else is thrown into the frame. They all have potential motive.”
“I think the killer means to confuse us regarding motive. I was tempted to moot some ideas with you, this evening, but decided against it. You need your rest.”
“What ideas?”
“It can wait till tomorrow.”
“What ideas?”
“Well...I was doing a little homework and came across something really interesting. Could be relevant.”
“Go on.” Yvonne leaned towards her, elbows on the table.
“You were saying the other day, you thought the murders had historical basis and appeared to loosely copy historical events.”
“Except Meirwen's murder...yes.”
“Okay. You also said that the murder at Abbey Cwm hir could have been based on the death of Llewelyn Ap Gruffudd.”
“Uhuh.”
“I've been doing some digging. Reverend David Davies was found close to the memorial stone and he was headless, right?”
“Yes. He'd been decapitated, and we still haven't found the head, despite conducting a massive search of the whole area.”
“I brought some notes with me.” Tasha pulled a wad from her handbag. “The story of the prince's death changes depending on who's telling it. Although the main tales are broadly similar, they differ widely in the details.”
“Hmmm...RhysThomas was trying to tell me that, at the Abbey when I bumped into him.”
“Well, Llewelyn Ap Gruffudd had a daughter, Gwenllian. After her father was killed, in 1282, Gwenllian and Llewelyn's niece were exiled. They were sheltered by monks, in the East of England. According to their version, Llewelyn, at the head of his army, rode out to meet the combined leaders of four English forces. These included those of the brothers Edmund and Roger Mortimer and Hugo Le Strange. He'd been told that they were going to pay homage and join him.”
“Okay...”
“It was a trap. Llewelyn found himself in a fierce battle, in which a significant section of his army was routed. He, and around eighteen retainers, including men of the church, became cut off. The monks had it that the prince and his men were ambushed at dusk and chased into a wood at a place called Aberedw, near Cilmery.”
“How is this related to our murder?”
“I was just getting to that bit...they cut off the prince's escape route and ran him through. According to the monks, he didn't die straight away but called for a priest. It was this, or the way it was done, which gave him away and his enemies cut his head off. What happened to the head is a subject of controversy...but...”
“I get it, our killer may have dealt with David Davies' head in the way, he believes, the English dealt with Llewelyn's head?”
Tasha's looked excited. “Yes. Yes, that's exactly it. What do you think?”
“I think you're onto something.”
“I vote we speak to Dr Rhys Thomas again; find out what he thinks was the likely fate of Llewelyn Ap Gruffudd's head, in 1282.”
“But, what if he's our killer?”
Tasha looked thoughtful. “Either way, I don't see how we can lose. If Rhys Thomas is our killer, I believe that he won't be able to resist giving us the true version of events, as he sees it. After all, this murderer is an exhibitionist. Every murder scene screams at you, 'Look at me, look at me, look at what I've done'. I think the killer is waiting for us to find the head.”
“And if he's not the killer? We might go looking up a blind alley...”
“Maybe, but it sounds like he might be a foremost researcher on the subject, so he may still be our best bet of finding the rest of the Reverend Davies.”
“Okay, agreed. Where shall we speak to him?”
“The station. If he is the killer, it'll rattle his cage.”
“Or...” Yvonne rubbed her chin. “What about meeting him at the Abbey? I'd value the chance for you to observe him, in the place where David Davies lost his life. If he is the killer, he may give himself away.”
“What would the DCI make of us doing that? Are you going to tell him?”
“Sure, there'll be two of us, and Chris can't come because of conflict of interest.”
“Chris, eh?” Tasha winked. Yvonne blushed.
In the sultry heat, Yvonne and Tasha approached the ruins of Abbey Cwm hir. The birds were in full song, but heavy, black clouds were gathering.
This was Tasha's first time at the site, and they were about twenty minutes early, so Yvonne took the opportunity to show her around.
“It's such a beautiful place.” Tasha breathed deeply of the valley air. “I can see why they would want to build an Abbey here. What does 'Cwm hir' mean?”
“I think it means 'Long Valley'.”
“Learning Welsh, huh? I'm impressed.”
“I'm trying.” Yvonne grinned at her. “Just don't tell Dewi.”
They both laughed, imagining his reaction.
“Can I share the joke, ladies?” T
he voice behind them was familiar.
“Dr. Thomas.” Yvonne turned to greet him. “Thank you for agreeing to talk to us.”
“You obviously like my company.” He had one hand deep in the pocket of his long, black coat, the other was holding his university scarf. His smile appeared forced.
Yvonne kicked off. “We'd like to pick your brains, Dr. Thomas.”
“Rhys, please...”
“Rhys, the last time we met, you told us about Llewelyn Ap Gruffudd's death by decapitation.”
“It's not known, for sure, if he did die by decapitation. He may have had his head cut off after death.”
“I see. Either way, we're interested to know what you think happened to his head. You said it wasn't interred with the rest of the remains.”
“Is that what you asked me out here for? To find out where I think Llewelyn Ap Gruffudd's head is at?” He laughed out loud, putting his hand up to his forehead in a mocking gesture. “If I knew that, I'd probably be a very popular man with the historical society.”
Yvonne frowned. “What do you think happened to his head, after it was cut off. What was its fate in the hours, days or weeks after his death.”
“Sorry, Inspector, I shouldn't poke fun.” Rhys ran his hand through his hair. “There are a few stories. I think it's pretty certain that it was sent to the English king, Edward, at Rhuddlan. It was reputedly shown off to the English soldiers stationed on Anglesey. It's said that Edward then had it sent on to London, where it was topped with a crown of ivy and displayed in the London pillory for a day. It was then carried atop a horseman's lance and placed on the Traitor's Gate at the Tower of London. It remained on display there for fifteen years.”
The DI and psychologist's eyes met. Displayed on the gate of the Tower of London.
“He stayed here you know, at the Abbey, the night before he was killed. He and seven thousand of his men. He went to a meeting with his counsellors and was betrayed by his own countrymen.”
DI Giles BoxSet Page 36
