by Cathy Ace
Evan stood, and the couple hugged. ‘God, I love you, woman. You’re as intrigued by all this as I am, aren’t you? Please admit it. Even if only to make me feel better.’
As Betty pulled back, he could see the love in her eyes. ‘You know I am. And that’s the truth. I had no idea how frustrating it would be to know only as much about an investigation as the rest of the world – at least, about an investigation I feel is “ours”.’
Evan kissed her on the forehead, just as the front doorbell rang. ‘I’ll get it. Maybe you could stick the kettle on? I’ll put money on Liz fancying a cup of something.’
‘Will do. Don’t keep her waiting.’
Liz Stanley entered the Glover household like a whirlwind. Evan recognized the exhaustion etched into her brow and carried beneath her eyes; he’d been there a hundred times, dog-tired, but needing to push on to get . . . somewhere.
With tea and biscuits on the table between them, Liz’s tablet fired up, and no need for niceties, Evan gave his old sergeant the chance to get right to it. ‘Say what you want, don’t say what you can’t. You lead,’ he said.
Liz nodded. ‘Thanks. I won’t say much that either hasn’t already been – or very soon will be – in the press. But I would welcome the chance to talk it all through with someone whose opinion I value, and who understands the way these things can go, and should go. I’m also pleased you’re here, Betty, because your input would be valuable too. An insightful outsider. But nothing goes beyond these walls, right?’
Evan and Betty agreed.
‘Thanks. I just needed to say the words. Quick update: we got the news about Hughes yesterday, twenty-four hours before they made it public, so he’s already been brought down from Scotland for questioning, and the Super’s looking into prosecuting the newspaper up there for keeping him under wraps. Of course, the people at the lab in London are falling over themselves to remind us they warned us the DNA they found was badly degraded; our own PR people are becoming apoplectic from having to deal with the social media meltdown. Now you’re up to date on the big picture.’ She beamed manically at the Glovers.
Evan said, ‘Have a custard cream, it’ll help.’ He winked.
‘If only,’ said Liz, taking one anyway. ‘So it obviously wasn’t Dean bloody Hughes on that hillside in Rhosddraig – a village I now know almost as well as I know my own flat, thank you very much. I cannot wait to never have to go back to the damned place again, however sodding beautiful it might be. So whose body do we have in tiny little bits? You – and the entire world – wants to know. So we start with the scientists – because they deserve a second chance, don’t they?’
She paused to roll her eyes and sigh away her frustration. ‘So they suggest a male Hughes sibling. Only thing is, Dean insists he hasn’t got any. All his known associates agree – not a sniff of any brothers. Of course, Jenkins is running around screaming at everyone all the time, and seems to have lost the ability to even string two sensible thoughts together within one sentence. He’s getting all sorts of heat from upstairs, and he’s making damned sure every drop of crap landing on his head is pushed downhill, pronto. So I’m up to my neck in it.’
‘Have another custard cream,’ said Evan, ‘and have some of that tea while it’s hot.’
Liz followed instructions, brushing biscuit crumbs off her tablet. ‘It’s been a slog. I spoke to Dean’s mother. Dear God what a mess. How she’s alive, I don’t know; only in her forties, looks twenty years older. Rough life, in every sense. Anyway, it’s quite clear to me from the minute I raise the topic that she knows who Dean’s father is, even though she’s never made the information known to Dean himself, nor anyone else for that matter. I had to get Jenkins to leave the interview, because his shrill pronouncements about the importance of her telling us the truth were not getting the woman to give us what we needed.’ Liz sighed. ‘He’s bloody useless dealing with women, did you know that?’
Evan nodded. ‘I did. Just not got that empathy gene, has he? Need a situation that calls for planning an inquiry, or delegating tasks, and he’s great. Good man-manager, and I mean that literally, because he’s never been too hot when it comes to overseeing female officers, or staff members.’
‘Aware of that. Now,’ said Liz heavily.
‘And not the best interview technique in the business,’ added Evan sadly. ‘Not too bad when it’s a male career criminal in one of our interview rooms, but out there – in the real world – face to face with people whose cooperation we need, not too good. It’s something everyone seems to know about him, but no one seems to be able to change – or help him to change, in any case.’
‘Exactly,’ replied Liz, allowing herself a moment to stretch her arms above her head. Rubbing her scalp with her fingertips, she continued, ‘I finally got what we needed out of her about half an hour after he’d left. Trouble is, it turns out that Dean’s father was injured in a stabbing several years back, then disappeared. So the remains could, in fact, be the father. She also claimed to not know if he’d had any more children, but she knew the name of the person she believed was his girlfriend at the time of his disappearance. Got the team to trace her, while also pulling out all the information we had on him – which turned out to be fairly substantial.’
‘Anyone I might know?’ asked Evan, trying to be helpful.
‘Iolo Rees, from Mayhill. Know him? Drugs, car theft, bit of moving of stolen goods, too many drunk and disorderlies to list.’
Evan could see the bloke’s face in his mind’s eye, and couldn’t help but smile. ‘Oh yes, I remember Iolo Rees. Ugly looking bugger, with a many-times broken nose. Tattoos up to his chin. Great breeding stock, I’m sure.’
‘Seems so.’ Liz looked disgusted. ‘Anyway, I went to talk to the last-known girlfriend – who’s now installed in an ex-council house with three bedrooms and a view of Swansea Bay most people would kill for, because she’s up on Pantycelyn Road, isn’t she? Whereas I work my backside off on behalf of people like her, and have a one-bedroom flat with a view of a car park, which I’ve hardly seen for the past two weeks.’
Evan wanted to reach out and give Liz a hug; had she been a friend, rather than an ex-colleague, he’d have done it. Luckily, it seemed he and Betty were experiencing their weird telepathic connection again, because his wife did exactly what he’d wanted to do. Which meant she was the one shrugged off by Stanley.
‘Sorry,’ said Liz, looking a little embarrassed, ‘Not a big hugger. But I shouldn’t rant. I wouldn’t want her life, so I shouldn’t envy her view.’ Evan was glad to see her crack a smile. ‘So she’s now got three kids, which she claims are all her current boyfriend’s, but I don’t see how that can be, given the timeframe. The main thing is, the quantity of the skeletal remains found tell us we’re looking for an adult male, and this girl was just that – a girl – so not old enough to have given birth to any child that would have had the time to grow to adulthood.’
‘So Dean Hughes is telling the truth when he says he has no male siblings?’ Betty asked. Evan noticed the way her hand was creeping toward the plate of biscuits.
‘As far as we could tell at that stage, yes. But I got a phone call around three this afternoon from a neighbor of the last-known girlfriend; it seems the word got around about our inquiries, and I spent an interesting hour late this afternoon with a woman who lives in a council house in Clase, who admitted she’d had a son with Iolo Rees. She hasn’t seen the child since approximately last October – sometime. She couldn’t recall exactly when.’
Liz held up her hand to fend off questions.
She continued, ‘The son is nineteen, and his mother said had the right to live his own life. She assumed he’d found himself a bedsit somewhere. He didn’t need to tell her, he was all grown up. She didn’t imagine he was missing, just getting on with his life. She mentioned that several times. She also added she was glad to see the back of him because she was sick of everyone staring at her if ever they were together. He has Down’s Syndrome, whi
ch it seems she found an embarrassment. She and the kid used to live a couple of streets away from Dean and his mother in Townhill, until a few years before Iolo disappeared. This one knew about Dean and his mother, but told me – and I believe her – that Iolo made it absolutely clear to her that she was never to tell anyone that this kid was his, nor that they’d even had a kid together at all. Iolo Rees decided as soon as the boy was born that he didn’t want anyone thinking he could have fathered him.’
Betty sounded annoyed. ‘What about Social Services? Didn’t anyone there notice the boy had disappeared? Surely they must have been involved with some sort of oversight process, even if he had left school. I know Careers Wales get involved around Year 9 to develop transition plans for children with Special Educational Needs, they must have spotted he wasn’t around anymore. The Care Act should have kicked in.’
‘The team’s looking into that now . . . but we all know about the cracks through which some individuals can slip,’ said Liz heavily. ‘The mother? Said he did well on his own, had an integrated education, and didn’t need much support. Used to get himself from A to B on buses, and was good at fending for himself.’ She shook her head. ‘She downplayed his challenges, possibly to cover her own shortcomings. Or maybe he really was as able to cope as she said. She also made it clear she didn’t like to be seen with him in public. Awful.’
‘So whose remains are they? Iolo, or Iolo’s other son?’ asked Betty.
Liz sighed. ‘I’ve gathered an assortment of items that might yield DNA from this son – his name is, or possibly was, James Powell. Seems Iolo Rees had a thing about James Dean, hence his two sons’ names. Also got some stuff from Iolo’s last known address. Not much. Everything is on its way to the lab as we speak.’ She checked her watch. ‘Nope, it’s been there for some time, already. Needless to say, the specialists there understand how critical it is for us to receive fast and accurate responses from them on this one. So I’m waiting for a call. What they’ve said they’ll do is to get as many of the microscopic bits of DNA they’ve gathered from the remains – and that they are allowed to use, because they can’t use it all, of course – to be able to aim for a more accurate match this time. They have, however, pointed out yet again – and in writing to every officer with the tiniest amount of braid on his or her epaulettes – that the fire damage to the remains still means they only have access to compromised samples for comparison. The talk in our team is that this time it might be a toss-up if the powers that be will even accept their findings.’
Evan poured some over-brewed, cool tea for everyone, and they all sipped in silence for a few moments.
‘Okay,’ he said, ‘the victim’s identity aside, and any potential motive issues that arise therefrom, do you still think the Beynon boy did it?’
Liz clasped her hands together, her knuckles whitening; she rocked a little in her chair, then leaned forward and spoke softly. ‘You see, Evan, that’s the problem, I’ve never been truly convinced he did it at all. But I’m just a DS. What can I do?’
‘You don’t think he did it?’ said Betty sharply. ‘Why not?’
Liz sipped her cold tea, placed her mug in the center of the coaster, then threw Evan a puzzling glance. ‘I’m afraid it’s all your fault, sir,’ she said, a twinkle in her eye.
Evan winked. ‘No “sir” here, please.’ But he understood. ‘You don’t think he could have done it, do you? You can see he might have had the means, the opportunity – and, now that it’s possibly the brother or the father of the dealer he thinks of as having killed his mother, maybe he still had the motivation – but you just don’t see this suspect committing this crime, do you? Your gut’s telling you something’s wrong, isn’t it?’
Liz nodded. She rubbed her pink-veined eyes. ‘Yes, Evan, and you’re the one who told me many times that instinct isn’t something an officer ignores – it’s a critical weapon in our detecting arsenal. And I’ve taken that to heart. I have watched Aled Beynon sit silently in our interview rooms for hours on end. He’s not detached, in the way someone with a mental incapacity would be, nor in the way someone with a psychopathic or sociopathic bent would be – he’s just calm, and choosing to not speak up. I can’t square that with the sort of person who could be capable of doing what was done to the victim.’
She paused, but Evan knew she hadn’t finished. She was weighing exactly what to say next. ‘Jenkins won’t listen to me. I’m just a DS, why would he? I could possibly imagine someone of Aled’s age acting upon an understandable level of antagonism toward either Dean, or even possibly Dean’s brother or father, and maybe even getting themselves fired up with alcohol or drugs to such an extent they might lash out at someone. That, I could go with – but only at a push in Aled’s case. But to do what was done to that body? A brutal process that must have taken hours of sustained venom, determination, and effort? No.’
Betty leaned forward, rapt. ‘Explain Aled’s demeanor to me, if you can, would you, Liz? What’s he like when you’re talking to him? You say not distant . . . what do you mean?’
Liz nodded. ‘He’s hearing us, listening even, but there are no telltale signs or signals coming off him when I, or Jenkins, or anyone else, proposes a theory of the crime to him. It’s almost as though he’s only half in the room with us, but not in an absent way.’
Liz picked up a biscuit and crunched into it with what Evan could tell was frustration at her own inadequacies.
She pressed on. ‘I don’t know what else to say, it’s hard to explain. He’s there, but not. He’s calm, but his hands . . . you know how suspects can get when they’re being questioned, Evan?’ He nodded. ‘Well the hands are always a dead giveaway; picking at the sides of their nails, peeling off ragged edges, that sort of thing. Well it’s like he’s almost dancing with his; he sits there silently, but his hands are constantly moving, in an almost balletic way.’
Evan spotted his wife’s eyes gleaming as she hissed, ‘I wish I could spend just an hour with him. Maybe then I’d understand.’
Evan decided to try to help. ‘Has Aled been professionally examined? To establish that he’s fit to stand trial?’
A wry chuckle escaped from Liz as she replied, ‘Yes, he has. Twice. First at his solicitor’s insistence, then his new QC’s. His solicitor’s doing a fair job for him – considering. You know her – Carol Morgan.’
Evan knew her well; a respected representative of the often irretrievably guilty. ‘Legal Aid?’ Liz nodded. ‘One of the better ones. How’s she coping with all this?’
Liz raked her hands through her hair; Evan and Betty exchanged a smile, both suspecting she’d picked up the habit from her old boss. ‘She’s spitting nails. Livid he won’t talk, won’t give her anything to work with. She did perk up a bit when Olivia Kitchener swept in from London to take over the case. Carol thinks it’s going to be a feather in her cap to work with such a high-profile QC. But I’m not so sure.’
Evan said, ‘I’m guessing Aled’s team has asked for the charges to be dropped – given Dean Hughes’s miraculous “resurrection”.’
Liz’s smile showed how tired she was. ‘All over it. Yesterday. CPS is going for lesser charges associated with preventing a burial and obstructing the coroner – which means he could still go to prison for life. They can prove what was done to the body after death, and will use key pieces of evidence we’ve gathered to seek to prove it was Aled who did it. Whomever the remains might once have been. They also want us to keep trying to prove murder, but I can’t see that happening, with no time or cause of death forthcoming.’
‘I bet the legal folks all enjoyed working through the weekend,’ said Evan with a raised eyebrow.
‘Don’t we all,’ replied Liz dryly. ‘They’ve brought the trial forward, too. Cardiff Crown Court, Monday 8th April.’
‘That’s fast,’ said Evan.
Liz nodded. ‘Yes, we’ve got to shift. Since we received the news about Dean being alive, Jenkins has been all at sea. He’s even worse now, given wh
at we’ve discovered today. We’ve currently got two potential alternatives to Dean Hughes, both family relatives, and we’re rudderless, as a team.’
Evan felt sorry for her; Liz looked to be close to the end of her tether. ‘It’s all going to crap. You’ve seen what the press have done with this, haven’t you? Any opportunity to point out how rubbish the police are at anything, and they’ll take it. Well, this time we’ve let ourselves, and the victim, down, so maybe we deserve it. The people baying that Aled is the “wrong boy” are having a field day – though I’ll admit some of them seem as confused as the rest of us, since Dean turned up alive.’
‘The case is certainly filling the media at the moment,’ observed Betty.
‘It is,’ chorused Liz and Evan, both in the same helpless tone. They all managed a smile.
‘So, what’s next?’ asked Evan, doing his best to not tell Liz what he thought should happen.
Liz smiled. ‘That’s why I’m here. For some tips from my old boss. So?’
Evan glanced at Betty, who was clearly contemplating the last biscuit on the plate – or else avoiding his gaze.
‘If you’re sure . . .’ Evan gave Liz a chance to back out. She nodded, eagerly. ‘Okay – I’d be all over the father and the brother. Treat as missing persons, with utmost urgency to locate. Friends and associates, other jurisdictions, you know the drill. If the lab in London says the remains definitely belong to either one, you don’t want egg all over you if he shows up alive in a couple of weeks’ time. Like Dean did.’
‘We’re highly focused on those aspects,’ replied Liz. ‘Even DCI Jenkins knew that was a good idea.’
‘Also, if the thought was that Dean was targeted by Aled because of his drug dealing, seek to unearth any connections between James and Aled, or Iolo and Aled.’
‘Agreed, and doing it.’
‘And . . .?’ Evan knew Liz was keen to add something, so opened a door for her, as he always had done.
