DI Giles BoxSet

by Anna-Marie Morgan

  Her phone rang again. This time, she had only to retrieve it from her coat pocket, “DI Giles...”

  The officer on the other end sounded out of breath. “He's not here, ma'am.”

  “Who's not?”

  “Bishop Lewis. We've talked to neighbours and they suggest a small-holding he sometimes visits, owned by his father, in Pembroke. Shall we head up there?”

  “Yes, do that. Oh...and make sure you have plenty of back up.”

  “Will do, ma'am.”

  Yvonne looked tired, and drained. “We can't fail, Dewi. We just mustn't.”

  It took around forty minutes to get back to the station. DCI Llewelyn greeted them at the door.

  “Yvonne.” He handed her a note. “Dr. Rhys Thomas was in America. I verified it with the conference organisers. He gave a plenary lecture, yesterday morning, before getting his flight back. Well over two hundred people watched him deliver it.”

  “Thank you.” Yvonne looked him straight in the eyes, and her look was softer than he'd seen it in days. “and I mean that.”

  He nodded gently in response.

  Rhys Thomas sat in reception. The DI walked swiftly to collect him and take him through to an interview room.

  “Don't worry about the room.” She put a coffee down on the table for him. “I'm not going to interrogate you, but you may be able to help us.”

  “Go on.” Rhys Thomas cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. “I'll help if I can.”

  “We'll need you to keep it to yourself. Someone's life is depending on it.” She waited for that to register.

  “Of course.”

  “Is there an important Welsh anniversary coming up in the next two to three days...today, tomorrow, the next day?”

  His eyes narrowed again.

  Yvonne continued, “It will be associated with water. A body of water. A large body of water in Wales.”

  She was struck by how vague and desperate this was sounding, and felt fear move up through her, a fine covering of sweat developing on her skin. “It may be related to Llyn Celyn. But it may not be.” Talk about a shot in the dark.

  Rhys loosened his tie and leaned back in his chair, puffing out his cheeks, which he let go with a loud puhh sound. “You'll have to give me some time.”

  “How long?”

  “Couple hours, maybe? Tomorrow morning at the latest. I have some ideas but I'll need to check dates.” He rose from his chair. “I'll let you know as soon as I can.”

  Yvonne looked directly into his eyes, her own earnest. “We'll be waiting for you.”

  54

  It felt like the cold had eaten through every cell of her body. Tasha wanted to move. She knew if she didn't she may become incapable, yet, every part of her felt leaden. The pain in her wrists had numbed, but between her shoulder blades really ached, and shifting position didn't stop it.

  There was a part of her that just wanted to give in to the cold and damp. To just let the deep sleep take over. And yet, she still had fight within her. Enough to keep telling herself that the DI would find her and this killer would be punished.

  She'd been thinking about Yvonne, about everything they had been through. About how she had chastised the DI for being so foolish as to get caught by the 'Shotover Sadist'. Now, she had done a similarly foolish thing. She could just picture Yvonne's reaction, and was sorry for the panic and stress she knew this would have caused. They say that necessity is the mother of invention, and Tasha prayed that this was the case with the team. She hoped her situation would speed up, not slow down, the resolution of this case.

  “Wake up. We have to get ready.”

  She struggled to open her eyes. How had she fallen asleep? She didn't want to wake up. Didn't want to respond.

  “I said, wake up.”

  Speak and spell was back. Her older cousins had owned a 'Speak and Spell' when they were all very young. She had loved the way it reacted when her cousins deliberately spelled words wrong just to get it to tell them they were 'incorrect!” Funny how she thought of this now.

  She could see his shape and the balaclava on his head. He placed the tablet down, but it continued talking, even as he placed a bag over her head and pulled her, roughly, to her feet. Her legs didn't want to prop her up. She had fallen against him and didn't even have the strength to barge into him, which was what she wanted to do.

  Being a psychologist, she knew she ought to be working on becoming his friend, but didn't have the strength and, more to the point, the thought made her sick to the stomach.

  He placed a sandwich in her mouth, and she wanted to eat, because she wanted to live, but was gagging uncontrollably, and he dropped it to the floor. She cried, then, for the first time. Loud sobs, which would have melted the hearts of most, but not his.

  He continued to force her boots back onto her feet, then making her stand up. As she couldn't see, she hit the wall on the way out of her prison, and swore at the unexpectedness. He half-pulled, half-dragged her to a vehicle and shoved her in the boot. This was the warmest she had felt.

  It took Yvonne and Dewi around two hours to drive down to Pembroke, where they joined those officers already on site. The bishop's family farm lay close to Tenby, on the Pembrokeshire coast.

  The DCI was doing his face-of-the-investigation bit, and Yvonne resisted the urge to head off in another direction, when he approached.

  “Bishop Lewis isn't here,” he began. “His father is in the farmhouse, over there.”

  Yvonne took in the large group of buildings, and the land which appeared to roll into the sea. The views were quite something. Next to the quadrangle of buildings, the road ran through a little coppice of deciduous trees.

  “It's a big farm,” she said, finally. “Does the bishop's father still work it?”

  “No, he says he doesn't any more. He has three sons, and the eldest, the bishop's half-brother, John, does most of the heft, helped out by another brother, Hugh.”

  “Did he say how often the bishop comes down here?”

  “It's not a regular occurrence, apparently, just the occasional weekend. The frequency of visits dropped off a bit after his mother died, a couple of years ago. He was down here for two weeks, whilst on leave, recently.”

  “Are we able to look around?”

  “As long as we leave things as we found them. I wouldn't like to get on the wrong side of the old man...”

  Yvonne signalled to Dewi, motioning him in the direction of the barns.

  “I reckon this farm has to be worth a few million.”

  Dewi creaked open the long, rusted-iron gate, leading them into the main courtyard. They were met with the smell of slurry, or silage, the DI was never quite sure which as they both smelled similar to her.

  “Couple of hundred acres.”

  A strong Welsh accent delivered the last, and the DI turned to look at the elderly gentleman who had spoken. His ruddy face and his bronzed, leathery arms fitted with a man of the land. He looked as though he still had some strength in those wiry arms.

  “Wow, that's impressive.” She smiled. “I was admiring your view down to the sea.”

  “Swanlake Bay. There's a beach down there as well, thee'st know. I'm Ieuan Lewis.”

  “Nice to meet you, Mr. Lewis. Swanlake Bay, what a beautiful name. It suits it.” She tucked a lock of stray hair back behind her ear. “What sort of farm do you run, Mr. Lewis?”

  “Dairy. We did do a bit of B&B as well, at one time - when my wife was alive,” he paused, as though seeing his wife's face in his mind's eye. “Anyway, we don't do much of that now. What are you looking for? And why are you looking for my son?”

  “Mr. Lewis, you are aware that members of the clergy have been murdered?”

  “Do you think my son is in danger?” She saw his body stiffen, as though the thought had not occurred to him.

  “As far as we know, any member of the clergy could, potentially, become a victim.” She'd decided to keep it simple. “We're looking for any signs that the killer
may have been around here. We suspect he stalks his victims, for a time, prior to killing them.” She felt guilt, at the sudden look of horror on his face. “But it's unlikely he's been here...we're just taking precautions.”

  The muscles in his face relaxed again and he took a step backwards, his signal for them to carry on. As they walked away, Yvonne tugged on Dewi's arm. “Go on ahead. Ask the guys to keep a lid on it, if they find anything. I don't want to frighten the father.”

  “Right you are, ma'am,” Dewi nodded in agreement.

  Yvonne passed the milking shed, and could see the stalls and metal piping, ready for the next shift. A middle-aged man in muddied, dark-blue overalls, was busy washing down the floor, his sleeves rolled up, displaying similarly tanned and muscled arms, though less leathery than his father.

  “John?” She stepped forward into the shed.

  He put down his brush, wiping his hands down the front of his overalls. “Hugh,” he stated, with a strong Welsh lilt.

  “I'm sorry, Hugh.” The DI gave a self-deprecating smile. “I'm DI Giles, we're investigating a series of murders.”

  “What has that got to do with us?” There was no harshness in the question, yet it was delivered in a surprised, but interested, tone. He may be middle-aged, but there was an innocence in this man. She had sensed the same in the father, the innocence of those who have led a certain, sheltered existence, that was rare in today's world.

  “We wanted to check on your brother, the bishop.” She bit her lip and scratched her head.

  “Are you worried he may be next?”

  “We need to keep an eye on everyone who could, potentially, become a victim.”

  “I see...Your colleagues are going through the barns. What are they looking for?”

  Yvonne liked the sing-songy way he delivered his words. She was really coming to love her new home. “Would you be disappointed if I said we won't know until we find it?”

  He grinned at her. “Are you looking for a needle? There's a lotta hay in those barns.” He emphasised his joke with a wink.

  She couldn't help but smile, and coloured at his flirtatious gesture. She cleared her throat. “I'll let you get on.”

  “Oh, aye?” Dewi gave her a knowing look. “Behave, ma'am, we've got work to do.”

  “Dewi, on your bike.” She pushed out her tongue. “Anything?”

  “No. Nada. What now?”

  “Well, we still haven't located the bishop, so that has to be our priority.” Her face became stern. “We're running out of time.”

  She felt her stomach sinking, that familiar feeling of despair and doubt. She could see Tasha's face, could see that pleading look in her eyes, as she'd stared into the camera. Yvonne had known that look was for her. Dewi put a hand on the DI's elbow.

  “Ma'am!” DC Thomas came running towards them, his mobile phone still attached to his ear.

  “Shhh, not so loud,” she said as Dewi looked nervously towards the house. “What is it?”

  “They've found a gun in the top barn: a sighted-rifle, well hidden, but the dog found it.”

  “Okay, Thank you, DC Thomas.”

  Now, she faced a dilemma: did she go to the family and ask if they knew about the gun, potentially alerting the killer and Tasha's abductor? Or should they just take it? In the end, the decision was made for her. DCI Llewelyn ordered the gun be taken for ballistics, stating that, in his opinion, the whole family were now potential suspects and were, therefore, to be kept in the dark, until the bishop was located. Only then, he'd decided, could the whole family be taken in for questioning.

  Yvonne didn't believe, for one moment, that the rest of the family were involved. The bishop had just become suspect number one.

  55

  Dr. Rhys Thomas was pacing about reception, as Yvonne and Dewi walked into Aberystwyth station. Yvonne had a voicemail on her mobile, saying he would meet her there.

  As they approached, Dewi raised an eyebrow. “I thought you didn't like him?”

  “I changed my mind.” Yvonne quickened her step into reception. “What have you got?” she asked, immediately, there being no time for the luxury of niceties.

  Rhys Thomas understood, he was also a busy man, and he recognised urgency when he saw it. “Right, well, as you suggested, I used Capel Celyn as my starting point.”

  “Go on.” Yvonne guided the historian to an interview room, ignoring the dirty look she was given by the receptionist.

  “Okay.” Rhys Thomas looked excited by his involvement in the case, and Yvonne wondered what Tasha might make of that. “Treweryn was drowned because Liverpool was desperate for water. It was drowned against the wishes of the Welsh people, and even the whole of the Welsh parliament - thirty-five of the thirty-six MP's voted against it. But, and this is the important bit.” He licked his lips. “It wasn't the first village to be drowned.”

  “Go on...” Yvonne leaned forward in her chair, across the small desk from Rhys, who continued, despite her penetrating stare unnerving him. “At the time Treweryn was flooded, there were very few pure-Welsh villages left in Wales. The language was already dying. It's why we hear so much about the drowning of that village - about the dam that is Capel Celyn. However...” It was Rhys' turn to lean forward in his chair, to stare at the detective. “Like I said, it wasn't the first village to be flooded in that way. Llanwddyn was.”

  “Llanwddyn. Where's that?” Yvonne could feel her gut shaking.

  “The original Llanwddyn is underneath Lake Vernwy. The current village is a displaced version, built next to the lake. From Newtown, you take the road for Welshpool and Llanfair Caereinion. You go through Llydiart and it isn't that far from there...couple of miles. Anyway, at the time Llanwddyn was flooded, there were many Welsh-speaking villages. It wasn't such a big deal, so it isn't the first place you think of when you think of the English damming of Welsh waters. In fact, England has apologised for Treweryn, but not for Llanwddyn.”

  “And the date? What was the date for the drowning of Llanwddyn?”

  “Well, that's where it gets more complicated.” Rhys looked pained. “The valley was flooded over the period of about a year. The valves were closed, to allow the flooding, on 28th November, 1888.”

  “28th November...that's tomorrow.”

  “Yes.” Rhys scraped his teeth over his lower lip. “The day before, 27th November, the new church, in the new Llanwddyn, was consecrated.”

  “But, likely, 28th November is the date I need.”

  “There is one more date...”

  “Okay...”

  “22nd November, 1889, was when the dam was considered to be filled.”

  “Well, that date had passed by the time the video was filmed, so I think that one irrelevant.”

  “I thought as much.”

  “Dr. Thomas.” If Yvonne's gaze had been a laser, it would have cut right through the historian. “Is there any other event, that you are aware of, that might be significant at this time of year...specifically, now?”

  “No.” The shake of his head was emphatic.

  “Thank you. Actually, I can't thank you enough.”

  Yvonne rose to her feet. Dewi, who'd been leaning quietly against the wall, was at her side.

  “Dewi, let's get back to Newtown. Call the DCI and inform him of the need to rendezvous there, ASAP.”

  “Will do.”

  There was a real buzz about Newtown CID. They knew something big was on the cards, even if they didn't yet have all the details. The whole team was on edge but raring to go. Yvonne had been granted a special ops surveillance team for Lake Vernwy, due to the shear size of the lake and the task facing them. Her team would go on ahead, as soon as they were fully briefed. The operation was going to require every man Jack of them, and they were ready for it.

  Yvonne pinned a large map of the lake area onto the board and waited for them all to settle down.

  “I can't impress on you enough the urgency of this mission. If we get this wrong, Natasha Phillips won't make it
.” All eyes were on her. “We have every reason to believe that tomorrow is a significant date for the killer, and that is when he plans to drown the psychologist, if we let him. Some of you will be carrying out overnight surveillance in the area, and at first light, the rest of the team and special ops will be joining you.”

  “Most of you will be posing as walkers and tourists and we'll have aerial support, if he shows up.” Yvonne rubbed the scar on her chin.

  DCI Llewelyn moved to stand beside her, as though to reinforce having every faith in her intuition..

  “He could be anywhere.” Yvonne emphasised this fact by passing her hand over the map. “He may not have Tasha with him. Bear that in mind. I don't want anyone to move until we give the go-ahead. We've got to know his intentions before we do anything.”

  She paused, in order to look at all their faces. “Take food and hot drinks in your rucksacks. Stay vigilant. Don't put yourselves in danger. You'll be going in twos, in separate, unmarked vehicles - your own vehicles, if we don't have enough. Keep your earpieces turned on: special ops team will be advising you via them. They'll be calling most of the shots, at least until we locate the killer or Tasha. Make sure your hats and coats cover your equipment. Any questions?”

  “What if he doesn't show? Isn't this all just based on a hunch?” One of the older DCs gave a sideways glance at Yvonne.

  “If we're wrong on this, I'll take full responsibility for the failure. You're right in one sense, it is a hunch...but it's based on all the information we've gained about this killer, and on the few clues he gave us in the video. Let's face it, we have nothing else, and I, for one, do not wish to give up.”

  The DC nodded his acceptance.