DI Giles BoxSet

by Anna-Marie Morgan

  “I can see the passion you feel for the story, Rhys.” Tasha's expression was neutral, but the DI knew she was testing.

  Rhys raised an eyebrow. “It's been my passion for the last decade.”

  40

  Yvonne tapped DCI Llewelyn's door and almost fell over as he opened it at the same moment she pushed against it.

  With an embarrassed smile, she straightened herself. “sir, can I have a quick word?”

  “Err... Can it wait? I'm about to meet with the Superintendent.”

  The DI looked like she might burst “Please?”.

  “All right, what is it? I can see that you'll explode if you don't tell me.” He laughed, indulgently. “What have you been up to now?”

  She gave him a don't-you-dare-patronise-me hard stare. “I think we'll need the help of London police.”

  “What for? We're in Wales...”

  “I think David Davies' head may have been taken there.”

  “What?”

  “I believe these murders are copies of historic or legendary deaths. I think our killer murdered Reverend Davies and then decapitated him, because Llewelyn, the last Prince of Wales, was killed and then decapitated.”

  “Where's this leading?”

  “The prince's head was taken to London, and I feel sure that's where we'll find our victim's head.”

  “You're going to have to let me get my head around this. What you're suggesting is a bit of a stretch.”

  “Well, I was going to run it by you the other day, Chris, but it didn't seem like a good time.”

  “Very well. I'm seeing the Super in a minute. We're meeting with BBC representatives to discuss the details of this case for 'Crimewatch'. I was looking for you earlier, but I couldn't find you. I'll make sure we don't finalise anything until you and I have had a chance to discuss this, properly.”

  “Sir, I want to contact the Metropolitan and City Police forces, now, if that's all right with you. I think the head may have been taken to or near the Tower of London. Of course, it's just possible it could be anywhere in the city, but I strongly suspect that the tower is the most likely place. I've spoken to Dewi and he'll do the phoning round, if you're happy for us to go ahead.”

  “Do what you have to, but keep me informed, and I mean informed.

  Yvonne was on her way back to Dewi, when he came hurtling along the corridor, out of breath, to find her. “Ma'am, you're not going to believe this...”

  “What?” Yvonne stepped backward instinctively.

  “It's all over the news, they've found a head in London!” Dewi spurted the words between rasping breaths.

  “Male?”

  “Yes, it's male. They're taking dental casts so that they can identify the victim.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Do I usually run that hard up the stairs?” Dewi bent over, catching his breath.

  “Err...no.”

  “The head was barely decomposed.”

  “Oh, our victim was killed weeks ago. There would definitely be substantial decomposition by now, unless it's been kept in cold storage. Perhaps it's not our victim.”

  “We'll fax over the dental records for Reverend Davies. If they match, it saves a family member the trauma of identification.”

  “Good, Dewi. Ask City police if there was any indication the head had been frozen or in cold storage.”

  “Will do.”

  “Oh, and Dewi?”

  “Ma'am?”

  “If it's confirmed, hunt down David Davies' family and inform them. I want them to hear it from us, not the newspapers.”

  “Righty-oh.”

  41

  Yvonne found Tasha in her temporary office. “Have you heard?”

  “I heard a commotion, what's happened?”

  Yvonne brought her up to date.

  “No way... So, in theory, if any of our suspects have been to London in the last week, they're squarely in the frame.”

  “If it's David Davies' head, then a whole bunch of new angles open up. We may get CCTV.”

  “By the way, I don't think Rhys Thomas is our murderer.”

  “I thought you might say that, I saw the look on your face when we left the abbey.”

  “If he were our murderer, he wouldn't have been able to stop himself looking at the place he left the body. Our killer was very careful forensically, but that doesn't mean that he wouldn't go through self-doubt. He'd have been subconsciously checking that he hadn't missed anything or left anything behind...”

  “And?”

  “I didn't see him look, once.”

  “So, not our killer.”

  “If he's our killer, he controlled his natural impulses very well.”

  42

  Yvonne worked in the incident room into the evening, moving photographs and pieces of information around on the board, drawing and re-drawing lines and connections. She didn't realise how tired she'd become.

  A confident knock on her office door forced her to pause.

  “Come in.”

  DCI Llewelyn poked his head around her door. “I thought I might go to the Chinese for some food. Fancy it?”

  Yvonne leaned back and ran both her hands through her hair. “Take out, you mean?”

  “Or sit in, I'm easy...”

  If she'd been more awake, Yvonne would have raised an eyebrow. As it was, she rubbed both her eyes and nodded. “I am hungry. In fact I've just realised that I am famished.

  “Right, grab your coat and we'll get something.”

  As they left the station for their respective cars, it was dark already, and he helped her on with her coat. “I have a spare room at my place, if you're too tired to drive home, after we've eaten.” He looked awkward and Yvonne wondered, for the first time, whether he might actually fancy her.

  “That's a kind offer, Chris, but I need to get home.”

  He looked down at the ground, cleared his throat and rubbed his head. She felt guilty and nearly told him that it wasn't that she didn't want to stay at his, just that she preferred her own bed. Especially, when she was as tired as she was now. The words stayed in her head, however, and the moment passed.

  They parked their cars just outside 'The Lotus' Chinese restaurant, just off Broad Street. The DCI waited as she stepped out of the car. “Are you sure this is okay?” he asked, with genuine concern. “I'll understand if you're too tired.”

  She smiled and touched his arm. “I'm starving. Come on. Let's eat.”

  They were shown to a table near a giant cheese plant, around to the bottom-left of the L-shaped room. Only two of the other tables were occupied. Yvonne was glad. The soft, background music and the intoxicating smell of the food being prepared were what she needed, after her long day. She closed her eyes and breathed. The muscles in her back relaxed and her shoulders dropped. When she opened her eyes again, the DCI was watching her. His eyes flicked to the menu in his hands.

  “This was a good idea,” Yvonne said, to break the awkwardness. “It smells great. I hadn't realised how hungry I was. I'd lost track of the time.”

  “I know.” Chris Llewelyn nodded. “This case has been getting to everyone. How have you been getting on with your psych sessions?”

  “You mean my torture sessions...” Yvonne scowled.

  “I mean your psych sessions,” the DCI laughed.

  “They're just about endurable. Problem is, every time I go into Dr. Rainer's room, I feel like a petulant child going into teacher's office. I can't seem to help myself. I can't believe that woman's patience.”

  “I think, sometimes, you are your own worst enemy. You go about searching for the next stick to beat yourself.”

  Yvonne sighed. “Perhaps you're right, but it's not so much that I want to beat myself, more that I'll do pretty much anything to chase down a murderer.”

  “Including putting yourself in danger...”

  Yvonne switched her gaze to the reflections in the window. “Tell me about the Crimewatch programme, when will you be appearing on
it?”

  “It's all happening the day after tomorrow. We'll be live from nine o'clock. I think our appeal is first up. We should have the ID of the head found in London by then, and know whether or not it's our victim. I got your report this morning, that will be a great help. I'll run through it with you some time tomorrow.”

  “No problem, I just hope we get a name for the perp – a concrete person to investigate. There are so many elements to these crimes, it's a very confusing picture.” Yvonne leaned to one side, to allow the waiter to place their meals. “This killer is going to great lengths to muddy the waters.”

  The DCI listened, as she poured her heart out about the case. As she fell asleep that night, she mused that he was a very good listener. He should have been her psychiatrist.

  43

  The following morning, CID was awash with activity: phone calls to and from City of London police; preparations for the appearance on Crimewatch; and more information being added to the story board, with Yvonne and Dewi trying to piece it all together.

  They'd received confirmation the head was that of Reverend Davies. Yvonne had wanted to call the relatives, but the DCI insisted that he take on that responsibility.

  Tasha joined Yvonne and Dewi as they added the photographs, taken by City of London SOCO, to the board.

  “So, now we have it confirmed he's basing his kills on historical events.” Tasha pursed her lips as she examined the London Photographs. “The first picture shows the head where it was found, on the spike of a metal railing close to the Tower of London. The other photos show the various stages of the forensic investigations and the dental moulds. Macabre, aren't they?”

  “Yes.” Yvonne stood back from the board, hands on hips. “Even more macabre is the fact the killer kept the head in his freezer for several weeks.”

  “Imagine looking at it every time you went to get some frozen chips...” Dewi pulled a face.

  “Yes, okay, Dewi, we get the picture...” Yvonne gave him a mock disapproving look.

  “He's certainly a cool customer, I'll give him that.” Tasha tapped her pen on her hand. But why wait? Why wait several weeks before taking the head to London? What caused the delay?”

  “Maybe it was too hot for him to take it straight there?” Dewi scratched his head.

  “Or, maybe he was busy doing something else and couldn't get the time to go to London until weeks after the killing. If so, why? What was he doing?” Yvonne sat on a chair, still studying the board.

  “Well, we know one thing he was up to in that time...” Tasha also took a seat.

  “We do?” Yvonne raised her eyebrows.

  “Terrorising and killing Meirwen Ellis.”

  “Of course.” Yvonne's eyes widened. “That was a big difference with Meirwen. The killer left his calling card before he murdered her. That didn't happen with any of the other victims.”

  “But, we had protection on Meirwen...”

  “Yes. We did, but not the day he left the calling card. He could have killed her then, but he didn't. Why?”

  “Maybe he was having second thoughts?” Dewi drank from his mug.

  “Perhaps something in her demeanour made him postpone. Maybe he was wrestling with himself over whether to go through with it. Maybe he liked her.” Yvonne was thinking again of Peter Griffiths.

  “He took her to Capel Celyn, what was the relevance of that?” Tasha walked up to the board. “Yes, people were displaced and yes, a whole village was flooded with water, but no one died there – not for the benefit of the reservoir, anyway.”

  “I agree, that bit doesn't make sense at the moment, but there must be some meaning to her being taken and killed in that place.” Yvonne sighed and got to her feet. “Let's get a coffee. I've got to brief the DCI in five.”

  He shifted from foot to foot and cleared his throat several times. His first couple of sentences were stilted and there was an uncharacteristic stutter. She'd been there herself and felt the fear: Crimewatch was a big deal. Yvonne recalled her time on it with absolute clarity: the appeal to find the Shotover Sadist. Now, she witnessed Chris Llewelyn going through the same nerves in the hunt to find the killer the press had dubbed, 'The Priest Slayer.' She was very glad that it wasn't she who was sweating the cameras.

  They were glued to the TV: Yvonne, Dewi, Tasha, and several other officers from CID. All had descended on Yvonne's house for the 9 pm show. They watched as the DCI calmly outlined the events and described the effects on the family and friends of the deceased. He appealed for the public to piece together the characteristics attributed to the killer, in Tasha's profile.

  He had done them proud, and the team cheered loudly in Yvonne's lounge as the presenters thanked DCI Llewelyn for his contribution, and moved on to the next appeal.

  “And now we wait...” Dewi perched on the end of the sofa.

  Yvonne sat back, next to him. “Now we wait...”

  44

  Bishop Dafydd Lewis beckoned her into the community centre, in the village of Bettws. He'd just finished giving a speech, about the changes planned for the church in Wales. Yvonne had wanted to be there for the whole talk, but had been delayed by various things. No matter, he had agreed to an interview, and that was far more important.

  He looked relaxed, and more casually dressed than she'd expected, wearing jeans and a shirt.

  “Thank you for agreeing to see me,” she began.

  “You're welcome, Inspector, I'm only too pleased to help, if it aids in the catching of this killer. So, what can I do?”

  “Bishop, can you outline to me the changes which are taking place in the church in Wales?”

  “There's lots going on, how much time have you got?”

  Yvonne cleared her throat, pen at the ready. “As much time as you need. I believe our killer's motivation is rooted in his resistance to change.”

  The bishop raised his eyebrows. “Really? I see...Well, back in July we had a major report released, from three prominent Anglicans, advocating wide-ranging changes in the church. There were lots of reasons for this: low morale within the clergy; low congregation numbers; and too many church buildings, apparently, due to the reduced number of clergy and worshippers. Not enough funds to justify keeping them open.”

  “And this was back in July...”

  “Yes.”

  “That was after our murders started.”

  “Yes, but the review was commissioned in July 2011. The contents of the report were no real surprise: leaks had been happening almost from the start.”

  “I see. Sorry, please go on.”

  “The Archbishop of Wales knew the church had problems and agreed that changes were needed. The church in Wales will be celebrating its centenary in 2020. The report was commissioned to aid restructure, and reinvention of the church, by that date. Get it fit for the future, so to speak.”

  “To help it survive?”

  “Quite.”

  “Go on...”

  “There were around fifty recommendations in the report. They included things like training lay people to play a bigger role in church leadership; holding sermons on days other than the traditional Sunday; replacing parishes with so-called super-parishes: amalgamations of about twenty-five smaller parishes. Also, so-called ministry areas; giving some churches over for use by the whole community, and selling off others. They suggested working more closely with other denominations and prioritising the increased use of Welsh in sermons.”

  “How were these recommendations decided?” Yvonne's pen was running out. She reached into her handbag and produced another one, scribbling madly, until the ink began to flow.

  “They canvassed over a thousand people who attended open meetings. It was decided the church was simply not doing enough to reach out to the young.”

  “Any thoughts on why the church has declined so much?”

  “Technology, possibly, or maybe the need for an excuse to be able to do what one likes instead of conform to religious order?” There was a sudden harshness
in his voice. “Some Assembly members believe it's because the Archbishop is too political.”

  “Is that what you think?”

  He straightened his back. “Inspector, religion has always walked side-by-side with politics. After all, the ten commandments were the first real laws, weren't they?”

  Yvonne thought that unlikely, but refrained from saying so. “Have a lot of churches closed?”

  He looked at her as though she were a small child. “A chapel closes, on average, every week, Inspector.”

  “Wow.”

  “Wow, indeed. The problem is not just confined to Wales, although I think it is felt especially keenly here. Christianity in Europe has been failing to adapt to an increasingly sceptical, and secular, population.”

  “Bishop Lewis, I have to ask you, do you suspect the involvement of any of your clergy in these devastating murders?”

  “No. And, forgive me for asking, why would you single out my diocese? There have been murders in two others besides mine. Granted, the killings started here, but...really...”

  Yvonne sat up straight. “Peter Griffiths appears very vocal in his resistance to change.”

  “Peter? Yes, but he's a good vicar. Being involved in the debate, does not a killer make. In any case, he was one of a group of clergy who voted for allowing female bishops.”

  “There are religious overtones to these killings, and the killer had access to paperwork for the rite of consecration.”

  “That sort of information is freely available on the web, Inspector. Any psychopath can make a murder appear connected to religion, if he wants to. I can't think of one good reason why a member of my clergy would be involved.”

  Yvonne had upset him, and that hadn't been her intention. “I'm sorry if I've offended you.”

  Bishop Lewis sighed deeply. “Go on with your questions, Inspector.”

  “How much contact do clergy from the various diocese have with each other?”