He left her trying to eat and drink, her hands still tied behind her back. She hadn't had the chance to ask him to loosen her bindings, to lessen the pain in her wrists. She realised that she must know who he was, or he wouldn't have bothered to disguise himself. Her brain ached from mulling over the identity of her captor, and she turned her attention to the food and drink, consuming it any way she could. Not knowing how long she would be there, or when her next meal might come, she ate everything.
51
Dewi drew the car to halt, just short of the old, Norman church, in Tregynon. The Sat Nav indicated this as the place, and Yvonne eyed the surroundings through the window, looking for the cottage of Peter Griffiths.
She found it easily, the aptly named 'Church Cottage', stood out and yet sat easy within its surroundings. It was clearly a Tudor building, being black and white and not a ninety degree angle anywhere.
“We're here, ma'am.” Dewi slid out of his seat and stretched, as the DI got out of hers. Still holding onto the door, she wondered if the killings were targeted slaughter, rather than an attack on Christianity itself.
A tiny paddock adjoined the garden. Yvonne spotted a Palomino horse, wearing a muddied coat. The horse snorted at them, and something in its eyes made her pause, as it approached the fence. A sadness. They gazed at each other in unspoken conversation for several seconds, before the DI continued down the garden path.
Yvonne had imagined the reverend's garden to be one of loud, sculptured plants – form over colour. She couldn't have been more wrong. This was more a garden of borders and flowering shrubs. Whoever tended this garden took time and effort.
Dewi banged on the door twice, to no avail. The curtains were drawn, so they were unable to see inside. Yvonne nodded to Dewi, and he put his shoulder to the door. It opened easily, and the surprised DS landed on the floor, jumping up and brushing himself off, a disgruntled look on his face. A quick examination of the lock explained why: the door was on the latch.
“Reverend Griffiths? Reverend Griffiths?” Receiving no reply, the DI proceeded into the small entry hall.
The smell hit her first. The mustiness clawed at the back of her nose, like a sniff of freshly ground pepper, and she sneezed. On the wall opposite, next to the lounge door, a montage of photographs of the reverend and who Yvonne took to be the reverend's daughter, were on display. They were smiling together in several, she being dressed in show jumping jacket and jodhpurs. The DI recognised a younger version of the horse, from the paddock outside. They looked so happy together, he with the intense pride of a father, and the girl ecstatically holding a trophy aloft, or else looking down from her horse, a rosette displayed clearly on its neck.
The DI tried to reconcile the man she saw in these pictures – the soft, indulgent father - with the strident, angry campaigner. She had to admit that she hadn't previously considered him as a rounded whole, and started to doubt her suspicions. And yet were not all killers also family members?
Dewi came back from checking out the kitchen and shook his head. “I'll check upstairs.”
Yvonne nodded her assent, and followed him up.
On opening the bedroom door, she recognised the smell of death and felt her knees buckle.
“Oh, dear God.” Dewi paused in the doorway.
There, on the bed, lay the cold, bloodied body of the reverend. His taut facial muscles, open mouth and wide eyes, knotted Yvonne's gut, depriving her of her breath.
“Are you okay, ma'am?” Dewi held out his hand, but she stiffened, not wanting to appear weak.
“I'm fine.” Her answer was a little too terse, but Dewi was already turning his attention to calling it in, and requesting an ambulance.
The reverend's throat had been cut and his torso bared, in the familiar way of the priest slayer. Congealed blood would be washed away to revel the killer's message, and Yvonne knew all-too-well what that would be.
Her thoughts turned to the agitated horse and the loving daughter who, at this precise moment, had no inkling of the life-shattering news she was about to receive. Had the horse understood what had happened to his master, or had it been expecting a meal which never came? Yvonne was overcome with sadness as she left the cottage to await SOCO. She'd been way off. Instead of suspecting him, she should have offered him protection.
Once SOCO arrived, she grabbed the necessary coveralls, in order to take a proper look at the scene.
52
Reverend Griffiths' home was vastly different to the one they had entered, not an hour earlier. Yvonne, suited up and determined, cast a critical eye over the scene, now properly lit by daylight from the window and powerful SOCO lamps.
The reverend hadn't been a hoarder. In fact, quite the opposite. Perhaps, thirty years ago, someone had installed a fitted kitchen, but the doors on many of the cupboards were lopsided or, in one case, missing altogether. There wasn't a lot of food in the cupboards, and only enough crockery for two people. Even that was mismatched. The majority of the reverend's possessions appeared to be connected either to his daughter or the church, making it hard for Yvonne to get a full picture of the man the reverend had been.
It was only later, when she talked to his neighbours, opposite, that she learned that he liked to play piano. That he had possessed one once, but had donated it to a local school, when they were no longer able to tune theirs. Similarly, he regularly passed on food and clothes to the Red Cross and food banks. He was a man who had kept his doors open to others, whether from his parish or not, and he had often, wistfully, talked about his daughter whom, it would appear, no longer visited him much, and had two rapidly growing children of her own. The horse had grown old, but the reverend had not been able to bring himself to part with it.
All of this left Yvonne confused, to say the least, her main suspect not only the latest victim, but a thoroughly decent human being. What would Tasha make of this? Yvonne's thoughts turned to the psychologist, realising she still hadn't heard from her. She resolved to call the London Met, when she got back to the station.
53
It had arrived in a plain, brown envelope, with a printed label. An SD card, the Exif data of which had clearly been altered to disguise the sender and his equipment. This was the reason Yvonne had received ten missed phone calls on her mobile, whilst she'd no signal, in Tregynon. As she entered the station, all of CID were huddled around one computer in the main office.
They watched in stunned silence, a look of disbelief on all their faces. On the screen in front of them was a dark, grainy image of Tasha, her hands bound behind her back. She looked tired and in pain. The team could see nothing which identified where she was and there was no sound, except for a computer-generated voice-over informing them that she was being held captive until the time was right, in a few days, to drown her.
It wasn't shock which Yvonne felt, but something else. She had feared that this was the reason the psychologist hadn't been in touch. The DI knew that her friend, angry and upset she could no longer work the case, wouldn't take that lying down. Of course, she'd gone off on her own. Gone back to one of the crime scenes to get closer to the killer. And she'd gotten her wish and ended up very close. Too close. Way too close.
How could Tasha have been so reckless with her own safety, knowing what this killer was capable of? He'd had said he intended to drown the psychologist in a few days, meaning when? Assuming the video was fresh, that still gave them little time. The truth was, they had no idea exactly when the video was filmed, due to adulteration of the Exif data.
Dewi put a hand on her shoulder. “You okay?”
“Yes...No. What the hell did she think she was doing?”
“You think she went looking for him...”
“I think she went back to one of the crime scenes. Probably in a state, after her argument with Llewelyn.”
“The team are waiting for a briefing, ma'am.”
“I know, I want words with Llewelyn, first.”
“Take it easy, ma'am.” Dewi's expressio
n was unusually firm and she knew he was right. If they were to find Tasha in time, it would require them all pulling together and reading from the same page. Didn't stop her feeling angry, though.
The door swung open and paper fluttered to the floor. The DCI ran a hand through his hair. “Which PC?”
“That one, sir.” Yvonne pointed roughly in its direction. ”It's a copy of the SD card. The original is with forensics.”
“You think this is my fault.” It was a statement more than a question.
“Do you think it's your fault?” Yvonne wasn't about to assuage his guilt.
“I didn't make her go after him.”
“I don't believe she did go after him. I think she was following in his footsteps. In any event, sir, we've got a team to brief and we're already running out of time to find her.”
“Point taken.” Christopher Llewelyn strode to the front of the room, stilling the voices and refocusing minds.
He was giving instruction, but Yvonne, though listening, was also recalling parts of the video again. They didn't have a date on the SD card, at least not yet. Maybe the forensic bods could come up with some magic, she'd certainly seen that before. What they did have, however, was the postage date: yesterday. Now, supposing the video was filmed yesterday, the killer had said a few days, she hoped that meant they had at least a couple more days. On the face of it, the situation might seem hopeless, but the DI wasn't going to go there in her head. She was totally focused on the time she hoped they still had.
The DCI gave the floor to Yvonne.
“Okay, I want each of you to go to one of the crime scenes. Don't go alone. Take at least two uniformed officers. If you see Tasha's vehicle, or any other sign she may have been where you are, I want you to call myself or the DCI, immediately. Call for back up and leave the scene intact for SOCO and the search teams.” Yvonne paused and drew in a deep breath. “The killer told us he intends to drown Tasha in the next few days. We know that he chooses sites of historical significance. Myself and DS Hughes will be working on finding out which body of water he intends to use. Be vigilant at all times. This killer is a real threat to all of us.”
The DI's breakfast hit the back of the toilet bowl, spattering in all directions, as she held on to the toilet roll holder. Her head swam, her chest heaved, and she thought she might pass out. Afterwards, she felt relieved that she had held it together long enough to get the team out there. The one person who would have been invaluable in the task ahead was the very person whose life was in danger.
Twenty minutes later, and Dewi was pacing, waiting for her, obviously deep in thought.
“Dewi.”
“Ma'am?”
“The historian, Rhys Thomas, gave you his phone number, didn't he?”
“He did, yes.”
“Let's call him; find out where he is and what he's up to.”
“Right you are.”
Yvonne could hear clatter and tannoys in the background, along with the sound of airplane engines. “Rhys Thomas?” She raised her voice in response to the noise.
“Yes,” he shouted back. “Listen, can I call you back? It's not convenient.”
“Where are you?”
“Heathrow. Just flown back from a conference in the States.”
“I'll call you back.”
Yvonne gave two hard raps on the DCI's door.
“Come in.”
He looked at her, and she could see that he was desperate to make amends, but wasn't sure how to go about it.
She felt sorry for him and sighed. “I need your help, sir.”
“Of course...what can I do?” His surprise was evident from his raised eyebrows, as though he couldn't believe his luck.
“Rhys Thomas. I've just called him on his mobile. He stated he was at Heathrow. Said he just got back from a conference in America. From the din in the background, this could well be correct. But I'd like to verify it and, since the team are otherwise engaged, and you know him, I thought you might be able to help.”
The DCI nodded. “I'll get on it right away. The Super is on his way to speak to me, apparently. This'll help delay the inevitable inquisition.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Yvonne?”
“Sir?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“If he was in America, he didn't post the SD card. And if he didn't post the SD card, he's no longer on my list of suspects. And if he's no longer a suspect, he may be able to help us.”
“The location of the water...”
“Yes.”
“Right, Dewi, let's go.” Yvonne tossed the car keys to her DS, who caught them deftly.
“Where we we off to, then?”
“Nantmel.”
Dewi didn't ask why. He knew only too well how little time they had. He trusted his DI implicitly, and she had a determined look on her face. She was onto something.
They found Jim, the church verger, arranging flowers near the pulpit. He appeared thinner than Yvonne remembered, and his movements were slow.
Yvonne's footfall was soft, as she approached, but she cleared her throat to warn him him she was coming.
Jim turned quickly, his pose defensive.
“Sorry to disturb you, Jim,” Yvonne began. “I wonder if we might have a word?”
Jim's face relaxed, somewhat, and he motioned them into the vestry. Meirwen's vestments still hung from the hook, on the back of the door.
Yvonne swallowed. “Jim, I'd like you to think back to the day when the bloodied collar was left behind the church.”
Jim's forehead creased. “I remember it pretty well. It gave us a shock. It's hard to forget such a thing.”
“I know.” Yvonne looked briefly at her shoes, then back up to return the verger's gaze. “I asked the reverend if she'd seen anyone unusual that day. Anyone she hadn't been expecting, or that stood out to her, and she said not.”
Jim nodded.
“Now, I'm asking if you remember seeing anyone who mightn't exactly have been expected, but for whom it might not have been unusual to make an appearance at the church.”
“You mean in the congregation?” Jim put his finger to his forehead.
“Possibly, but most especially, clergy.”
“Clergy...” Jim's forehead furrowed again and she knew he was seeing the congregation in front of him.
“If you like, we can go away for a bit, if it helps you think.”
“Bishop Lewis.” Jim clipped the words.
“The bishop?” Dewi took a step forward.
“Why would the bishop come to a small church service? I'd have thought he'd be too busy?”
“It's the sort of thing he does: drop in, occasionally, unannounced. Apparently, he does it for all the churches. I asked Meirwen, ages ago, why he did that, and she said he's a stickler for protocol and likes to know that things are being done correctly. She thought it was because he was afraid of people falling away from the church, from God. She thought him obsessive-compulsive.”
“He suspects his own clergy of driving people way?” Dewi pulled a face.
“He's afraid of modern methods creeping in, putting off some of the older parishioners.”
“Is he afraid of change?” Yvonne rubbed the scar on her chin.
“He was very vocal in the female bishop and gay clergy debates.”
“I'm guessing anti-...”
“You guess right.” Jim nodded emphatically and put a hand to the small of his back.
Yvonne understood it was time to leave, and looked sideways at Dewi, who blinked deliberately back.
“Thank you, Jim.” Yvonne gave him a tender smile. “Might I light candle for the reverend?”
Jim smiled back, knowingly. “I'll get you one.” It was almost a whisper.
Yvonne took the candle from from him and walked to the left side of the pulpit. A bunch of candles were already burning there. She bowed her head, a silent message to Meirwen, a promise to find her killer. Lighting the candle from those al
ready alight, she set it down on a few drips of molten wax. She bowed her head, once more, and rejoined Dewi. They shook hands with Jim, and left.
On the way back, the DI was pensive.
“That puts the bishop right in the frame, doesn't it?” Dewi read her thoughts.
“Well, it certainly makes him more interesting. I'd like to know where he is and where he's been recently. I think we need to learn more about him, fast.”
The DI's mobile bleated in her bag. She rooted around for it, cursing under her breath.
“DI Giles?”
“We've found Tasha's vehicle, ma'am. It's at Llyn Celyn.”
“I knew it.” Yvonne sucked air through her teeth. “Thank you for letting me know. Inform the DCI, if you haven't done so already, and get SOCO down there. Meanwhile, could you get a couple of cars down to Bishop Lewis' place and bring him in, please. Exercise caution, he could be armed and he may be dangerous. Ask the DCI to get an ARV on standby.” Yvonne clicked the mobile off.
“Her car's at Llyn Celyn, Dewi. Let's get down there. She may still be in the locality.”
Tasha's Audi appeared untouched and, they suspected, just as she'd left it. There were no keys in it. Yvonne peered through the window, as SOCO guys prepared it for towing away. There was a road map open on the passenger seat, a half consumed bottle of diet coke in the drinks holder, and an open packet of what looked like cheese and onion sandwiches. Yvonne stepped backwards and onto the foot of a photographer who yelped. What was it with photographers? She apologised, reluctantly.
“I don't think she expected to be long.” Yvonne rejoined Dewi. “She was in the middle of lunch.”
“They've had a good look around the water and the area surrounding. The search is ongoing, but it doesn't look like she's anywhere around here.”
“No, he's taken her away, somewhere. If he was keeping her here, he'd have disposed of the car.” Yvonne didn't really know why she'd come. They were rapidly running out of time. There was little she could add to what was already being done here, by SOCO and uniform. “You'll probably think me odd, Dewi.” She gave a wry smile. “I just thought I might sense something.”
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