DI Giles BoxSet

by Anna-Marie Morgan

  That evening, eating a late dinner, Yvonne could see the faces of the Davies children and their mother. Her hunger evaporated. Standing there, in that blood-soaked room, she'd had an overwhelming urge to scoop up those little ones and hold them forever. Kiss those innocent cheeks, which still held their babyhood chubbiness. She thought of her nephew and niece, whom she hadn't seen in six months. She would give her sister Kim a call. Spend the bank holiday with them. Life was too short.

  The sun, bedding itself behind the house, coloured the sky a rich orange. A crimson glow settled on the fields. The DI took a large hot chocolate outside, to sit and experience the dusk. Her taut knuckles shone white, as she pondered the dead children. She was still gripping the mug long after its contents were gone, and the last melodic notes of the evening had been uttered by the birds. The night chill had already sent those choristers scuttling to their nests.

  Once it was fully dark, she shook off the stiffness penetrating her bones and went back inside, taking the stairs to bed.

  2

  Dewi, can you get me the name of the DS who dealt with the family wipeout in Maesbury?”

  “Ma'am?”

  “I just need to tie up some loose ends.”

  “Will do.”

  Yvonne had the Davies family file on her desk, still unable to put it away, even though the early forensic and pathologist's reports leaned towards the culpability of the father. Open-and-shut-case was now the official position.

  Tests on the father's t-shirt had shown it to have blood spatter and DNA from every one of his family members. This suggested he'd been present during the murder of each of them. And yet, doubt still curled its invasive tendrils around her.

  Her phone pinged in her bag. She fumbled for it. Kim. She felt relief at the reply to her message. She'd texted her sister an hour ago, and Kim was usually faster at replying. Her sister confirmed that Yvonne could join them for the bank holiday weekend. The DI smiled, relishing the thought of seeing her family again.

  She dialled the extension for DS McAllister in the West Mercia force, self-doubt increasing with every ring. The DI was about to give up, when a baritone voice came on the other end. “?DS McAllister.”

  Yvonne cleared her throat. “Hello. DI Giles, Dyfed-Powys police. Look, I'm sorry to bother you, DS McAllister, but I wondered if I might ask you a few questions about a family homicide you dealt with a few months back?”

  “The Bennetts?”

  “Yes, the Bennetts. I believe Mr Bennett killed his family and then himself.”

  “That's right. A total wipeout. One of the most devastating cases I've dealt with in recent years.”

  “Did you, at any point, have doubts regarding the culpability of the father?”

  “Err...no. Not really. Mr Bennett had huge debts, most of which had been accrued in the six months before he died. He'd self-referred to his GP for depression. All the evidence pointed in one direction. Why do you ask?”?

  “We've had a similar case. It's early days, so we don't now yet if it's debt-related. We're still investigating motive, but initial forensics are pointing towards the father.”?

  “You're having doubts...”

  “I have some niggling questions in my head. I wanted to ask you about the mother and daughter in your case.”?

  “Go on...”

  “How were they found? Were they in bed?”

  “Yes. All tucked up.”

  “All tucked up? Were the bedclothes tucked under their chin?”

  “Yes, they were. We interpreted that as the dad wanting to care for them, even after he'd killed them. Like he hadn't really wanted to kill them. Like he'd seen it as a necessary evil.”?

  “Do you have the crime scene photographs?”

  “Would you like to see the file?”

  “Could I?”

  “I'll dig the file out and get a copy sent over to you, if it helps.”

  “It may. I can't thank you enough. Our family was neatly tucked up, too.”

  As she put the phone down, Yvonne considered approaching Llewellyn, but decided against it. She'd wait to see what Dewi came up with, regarding Mr Davies' finances, and arm herself with the Bennett family crime scene photographs. This was the first family wipeout she'd dealt with. She didn't have a huge amount of experience to draw on, but murder-suicide was generally more chaotic than this.

  Dewi handed her a pile of papers. “Ben Davies' financial records from his bank and accountant, ma'am.”

  “Thanks, Dewi.” Yvonne examined them, frown lines developing on her forehead. “Half a million debt. Looks like he was in credit until around six months prior to his death.”? The frown lines deepened as she recalled her conversation with DS McAllister.

  “What are you thinking?” Dewi narrowed his eyes.

  “I just had a conversation with West Mercia about their family-wipeout case, the Bennetts. Mr Bennett went into debt six months prior to his death.”?

  “Interesting coincidence, ma'am.”

  “Yes, and I know it's most likely to be just a coincidence, but I want to dig a little deeper: look at the background to this debt in more depth - compare it with the our case. They're sending me the file. I'll read through it all at home. I've got nothing better to do.”? She gave Dewi a wry smile.

  Dewi nodded, though his eyes suggested he believed she was wasting her energy.

  3

  The view from the castle was spectacular on such a cloudless, clear-view day. He could see for miles across multi-coloured fields and woods. He inhaled the summer-scented air, like he was about to sample a glass of fine wine, and wandered over to where he had the farthest view. He gazed in the general direction of the Ball family residence and took a long swig from his coke can. He held the can to his temple, the ice-cold sheen of water, cooling him down.

  He thought of Mrs Ball, putting out family washing on such a day. Reaching up, body taut under her expensive clothes. Sweating in the heat. He felt a stirring in his loin and scratched himself, tossing the can over the wall. It was too public here. He needed somewhere more secluded.

  He found the hedge line and followed it until he was sure he was far enough, and hidden away enough, to relieve himself with his hand. Feeling calmer, he pulled up his zipper and glanced around. He could hear the voices of an approaching family but couldn't see the people. Good. That meant they couldn't see him. He hastily began the return walk, around the castle, and descending the hill into the tiny town of Montgomery.

  Thirsty, he chose a cafe in the main square below the castle, aptly named 'Castle Kitchen.' It had an aged feel, having a bay window at the front, filled with a variety of tempting cheeses, breads and other local delicacies. Inside was small but welcoming. There was even an open fire, clearly not needed at the moment.

  The petite waitress came to meet him. “Hello. What can I get you?”

  He examined her: her hair in a neat pony-tail; a cool, white blouse open at the neck, but demurely so. If he'd been honest, she would most probably have telephoned the police. “?Have you got beef?”

  “We do have beef, sir, from a local farm.”

  “In that case, I'll have a beef sandwich, with English mustard. Lots of English mustard. Also, a pot of Darjeeling...if you have it.”

  As he watched her scurry off to fulfil his order, he opened another button on his shirt. It was almost too hot, and he felt it more now he was inside, an uncomfortable moist patch developing on the small of his back. He leaned back in his chair, appreciating the fact that, at the moment, he was the only customer.

  She was back. Looking totally calm. He examined his sandwich as she watched, peeling up the edge of the bread until he could see a large part of the beef underneath. “?I did say lots of mustard.”

  He thought he caught a quickly-smothered, withering look. If he had, there was no sign of it now as she gave a relaxed smile, before turning on her heel towards the food-prep area.

  “Are you here for the day?” she asked, in a distracted fashion.

>   He could hear the knife in the mustard pot. “I've just been for a walk around the castle. It was very...satisfying.” He smiled at his own innuendo.

  The sandwich was back. “It's certainly lovely this time of year.” If she'd caught his meaning, she didn't show it.

  “The Darjeeling?”

  “Oh yes, I'm sorry. I'll go get it.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Where are you from?” She came through with his tea tray.

  “The big smoke.”

  “Are you here on holiday?”

  “Yes.” She was asking a lot of questions. A part of him liked that.

  “What do you do?”

  “Money. I do money. I'd ask you what you do, but...” His words dripped intentional contempt.

  She looked directly at him. He'd achieved his goal. Her eyes were an inferno. He could feel them, like daggers swiping at him, aiming to cut him down a size. Far bigger fish than her had tried that and failed. She needed sorting out and he was just the man to do it.

  “Enjoy your lunch.” She was gone.

  He was once more alone in the small room, albeit short-lived. The family he had heard up at the castle entered the cafe. He could tell it was them because of the father's deep voice and the shrill, whiny voice of the child, telling his dad exactly what he did and didn't want. He resented their presence.

  The smile the waitress furnished on them was far wider than the one she'd given him. She gazed indulgently at the child, and they were all 'please' and thank you' and 'sorry to trouble you'.

  He pushed back his chair with a loud scrape and palmed the rest of his sandwich. Downing the dregs of his Darjeeling, he left them all behind.

  4

  The drive to Witney had taken over three hours, avoiding the motorway. Yvonne pulled into the Madley Park residential area, on her way to her sister's house: a three-bedroomed semi with big sky.

  As she walked up the garden path, she could feel the tension leaving her body. Kim came out to greet her, a glass of ice-cold juice at the ready. Yvonne exchanged cheek-kisses and gratefully accepted the drink, jumping when her five-year-old nephew Tom rammed his big and colourful, plastic truck into the back of her calves.

  “It's good to see you, sis.” Kim put an arm around her.

  Yvonne smiled broadly. “I've missed you. And you,” she said to the giggling Tom. He stood looking up at her, all sandy-haired and freckle-faced, chocolate round his mouth.

  “Where's Sally?” The DI asked, looking for her six-year-old niece.

  Kim looked all about her. “Still in the back garden, I think. We've just fired up the barbecue.”

  “I thought I could smell something.” Yvonne rubbed her tummy, bending down and scooping Tom up into her arms. “?Mmmmm. I think I could eat a horse.”

  Tom giggled again, and threw his arms around his aunty's neck. “We've got sausages and chicken and...and...”? He struggled to remember what else his mum had told him. “Potato salad!” He remembered with a self-satisfied flourish.

  “That sounds absolutely to-die-for.” Yvonne gave him a broad smile, hugging him tightly and kissing the end of his nose. “?Come on, let's find your sister.”

  Sally watched the barbecue coals, as the flames began to die back. When she saw her aunt enter the garden, still with Tom in her arms, she ran over to her - almost falling in her excitement. She curled her arms around Yvonne's thighs. “?Aunty Yvonne!”

  “Well, hello, little lady, it's good to see you, too. What have you got for me over here?”

  “We've just lit the barbecue and mummy's going to clean it with a special brush.” Sally pushed back tiny, blonde curls from her face and stared back into the barbecue.

  “Not too close, Sally.” Kim had her hands full with two large trays of food.

  “Here, let me help.” Yvonne popped little Tom back on his feet and took one of the trays, from her sister. In this moment, she felt deeply happy. It was good to be back with her family with all its noisy chaos. Such a contrast to her own life back in Wales.

  “How's the house?” Kim asked, scrubbing the barbecue's iron grid with a wire brush.

  “It's coming along. Still quite a bit of work to do and not enough time, you know.”

  Kim nodded. “You work too hard.”

  “Says you: single-mum extraordinaire. I don't know how you do it.”

  “Well, I only work part-time.”

  “No such thing as part-time in your life.” Yvonne grinned, giving a wink in the little ones' direction.

  “You have a point there.” Kim laughed.

  “I missed you.”

  “We missed you, too. Six months is too long. My kids adore you.”

  “I've worked a couple of difficult cases but that's no excuse. I won't leave it so long next time.”

  The rest of the afternoon passed in a flurry of food and activity, until bulging, dark clouds filled the late-afternoon sky and the first drops of rain fell. They ran into the house whooping and screaming in a race to get out of the rain. Sally won, followed by Tom, then Kim and Yvonne, pretending to be out of puff and well-beaten.

  Yvonne helped Tom build a rocket out of Lego, and Sally change her dolly's nappy. At this point, Kim announced it was time for the children's baths. They'd had a good afternoon and were thoroughly grubby.

  “Can Aunty Yvonne put us to bed?” Sally asked, pulling on her mum's sleeve.

  “I think you'd better ask Aunty Yvonne...”

  “Can you? Please. Please?”

  Yvonne pretended to consider.

  “Pleeeeeeeeease?” Sally and Tom begged in unison.

  Yvonne laughed at the two expectant faces. “Oh, go on then.”

  “Yay!”

  Half-an-hour later, she was carrying a child on each hip up the stairs to their bedroom, whilst promising to read them two bedtime stories. Her back complaining, she wondered how her sister managed to carry them like this many times a day.

  She kissed the tops of each of their heads, and took in the freshly-washed, sweet smell of their hair. Her heart ached. It ached for the children she herself had wanted with David. The children she was destined never to have. She hugged them tight, before setting each one down on their beds and tucking them in.

  One and a half stories later, their eyes had closed. Tom had already pushed the bedclothes off his chest, his favourite cuddle-blanket curled in his arms. Sally held her doll, which she'd just kissed goodnight. They looked so peaceful.

  Unbidden, came that dreadful scene she had witnessed in that home, in Knighton. Those three little ones, blown away. Their faces not unlike the two peaceful ones before her now. It struck her then. She didn't recall any of them cuddling anything. Not a favourite toy or a blanket. Why not?

  She rejoined a tired-looking Kim in the lounge. They each let out a large yawn.

  “Glass of white?” Her sister handed her a glass which she gratefully accepted.

  “I don't know how you do it,” she chuckled. “Those two are like whirlwinds.”

  “You'd make a great mum, Yvonne.”

  Yvonne gave a wistful sigh. “Maybe one day.”

  “Have you spoken to mum recently?”

  “Not for a while. You?”

  “She misses you, you know.”

  “We've had this discussion. I speak to her now and again. Anyway, it's more important that you keep in touch with her, for the children. They need a grandma.”?

  Kim nodded. “They Skype with her regularly, though the time difference makes it tricky.”

  “Adelaide's a world away.”

  “It'll be the tenth anniversary of dad's...” Kim's voice faded.

  “Next month. Yeah, I know.”

  “It's why she ran away, you know.”

  “With him. I'd have had more respect if she'd gone alone.”

  “Affairs happen, sis. They couldn't have known that dad would...” Kim grimaced.

  “Take his own life? You can say it, Kim, it won't kill him again.” Yvonne saw her sister's sad
ness and relented. “?I'm sorry. I miss him, too. And I miss mom. I just can't help the strong feelings I have towards that man. At least dad didn't try to take her with him.”

  Kim looked at her sister, open-mouthed, eyes wide.

  “I didn't mean it like that. It's just a case I'm working on. The dad allegedly took everyone in the family with him. It happens sometimes.”?

  Kim's face relaxed. “I thought you meant you thought him capable.”

  “No. No, definitely not. In fact, I have a feeling neither did the father-in-question, but I'm having a hard time convincing anyone I work with of that.”?

  “Hey, forget work,” Kim chided. “You're here with us now. Cheers.”

  Yvonne smiled ruefully. “Cheers.”

  The file from DS McAllister lay on her desk on Tuesday morning. Yvonne immediately sat down with it, flipping through in order to start with the crime-scene photographs. “?Dewi?”

  “Yes, ma'am.”

  “Can you get me the file for the Davies family.”

  “Will do. What are you up to?”

  “Comparing it with the one from West Mercia.”

  “Okay, ma'am.” Dewi pulled a face.

  “Now?”

  Dewi grinned. “Right-oh.”

  Mrs Bennett could have been Mrs Davies. Different hair colour but the same tucked-up peacefulness of the crime scene. Yvonne drew in a deep breath, her heart beating just a little faster. The teenage daughter –? similar. The little boy of five – same again. Even down to the direction their heads were facing: towards the left, all peaceful. Bloody duvets tucked up tight under their chins. The Bennett father had been found in the garden. Shot through the mouth, the back of his head blown away. Blood spatter from his family all over his t-shirt.

  She continued to turn the pages. Finances. He'd lost heavily. Gone from credit to debit six months before, and owed creditors more than a million. His clothing business had gone into administration. The bank had wanted his home, thought to be worth just shy of a million. His Porsche had been repossessed. Motive enough, perhaps, to take his own life. But to take his family's lives? Perhaps. But those crime scenes, and the similarity to her own crime scenes, left her even more doubtful.