Murder at the Old Abbey

by Pippa McCathie

  His smile became broader. Yes, all in all things were going well. Maybe he’d pop into the pub before going back to the Abbey, make sure that idiot, Garan, was aware he was back and hadn’t forgotten about what was owed. That’d round the day off nicely.

  * * *

  Sheryl had been to visit her brother in Chester. She’d left early in the morning and it was late evening when she returned, just after closing time. She found Garan sitting on a stool in the darkened bar, which was lit only by the lights behind the optics. He sat with his elbows resting on the counter, a large glass of brandy clasped in both hands. As she walked in, he looked round at her but said nothing.

  “Hallo love,” she said, bending to kiss his cheek, “what’s up?” Her heart sank at his defeated look. She hitched herself up on to a stool beside him.

  “He came in this evening.”

  “Who?” she asked, but in truth she knew.

  “That fucking brother of Delma’s, sitting there grinning and telling everyone what great butties we are, then making threats about the money I owe him.”

  “Did anyone hear him threatening you?”

  “No. He made sure of that, he only said anything when no-one else was near.” He took another gulp at his brandy. “He was going on again about how he’d told his pals in Swansea all about me, that they know how to deal with what he called defaulters. But it gets worse, Sheryl. He said he knows where Mam lives.”

  “How the hell did he find that out?”

  “I don’t know, do I? He said he might go and visit her, tell her all about her dear son’s debts, that he might have some fun while he was there.”

  “Christ, that man is such a shit. Have you warned Bella?”

  “I can’t. I’d have to tell her about the money.” He gave a twisted grin. “But I’d not give much for his chances up against Mam. She’d eat him for breakfast. When I spoke to her on Saturday, she was talking about coming down; she said she wanted to be here for us. I’ll have to put her off in case she bumps into him. And then he had the flaming cheek to get me to fill up his hip flask, and with Penderyn malt too. Then he refused to pay once I’d done it, told me it’d go towards what I owe him.”

  “Garan, you must speak to Rodric. Tell him what’s going on.”

  “I can’t, not now the police are involved.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Garan looked at her in consternation. “God, of course, you don’t know yet,” he said.

  “What? Tell me.”

  “Rodi phoned earlier, the post-mortem on Caradoc has shown that he was poisoned. The police believe it was murder.”

  “Oh my God,” Sheryl whispered.

  “They were up there in force today, searching the whole place, taking away all the laptops and phones. I can’t believe it. It’s like living in a nightmare. Who would do such a thing?”

  “They could be wrong.”

  “I doubt it. I don’t think they’d have pitched up in such numbers if they weren’t sure of themselves. Rodi said there was about ten of them. Given all that, you can see why I can’t tell him about his stinking brother-in-law.”

  “I suppose. But maybe he had something to do with it.”

  “That’d be good. Not the old man being done in, but Cotter being arrested for it – that’d be really good.”

  “But what reason could he have?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve been going over and over it and I can’t think of any motive he may have, unless Caradoc found out about his activities in Swansea and all that, but I can’t see that as a strong motive, can you?”

  Sheryl shook her head and frowned across at him. “So, what happens next?”

  “They, the police, are descending tomorrow to interview everyone at the Abbey. They’ll want to speak to us as well, Rodi says.”

  “Old Caradoc could be a bit of a pain at times, but deep down he was a good man, and he was always such a good friend to your Mam. When he died, I thought, well, at his age it was to be expected. But murder? That’s dreadful, Garan, dreadful.”

  “Cotter hinted that I might be responsible, suggested I’d inherit enough to pay off my debts. He said he might mention that to the police.”

  “The bastard!” Sheryl said.

  “But people could think that, couldn’t they? Particularly if he starts shooting his mouth off.”

  Sheryl went behind the bar and lifted down a glass, poured some brandy into it and took a slow sip. She leant on the counter opposite her husband and said, her voice calm and measured, “No-one’s going to listen to the likes of him. Perhaps Caradoc challenged him in some way.”

  “But how?”

  “I don’t know, do I? But who else is there?”

  “Ted Marsden?”

  “Over a bit of grazing?”

  “It was more than that, and he’s pretty fiery, he hates – hated Caradoc. You never know.” He rubbed at his face, looked at his empty glass, but Sheryl wasn’t going to let him have another. She reached for the glass and put it into the dishwasher along with her own, then came around and put her arm round his waist. “Come on, love, there’s no point in speculating. Let’s go to bed.”

  They turned off the lights and trudged up the stairs, but neither of them expected to get much sleep. Tomorrow, Sheryl decided, she’d phone Bella.

  * * *

  That evening Anjali went upstairs quite early. Fabia got the impression she wanted time on her own after the events and emotions of the last couple of days.

  Fabia glanced at her watch. It was ten o’clock but she felt wide awake, definitely not ready for bed. She decided to go through what she’d sold at the exhibition and the commissions she’d been given. She’d rather taken her eye off the ball since she’d been concentrating on her visitor. But as she made her way to the dining room, her mobile rang.

  “Hallo?”

  “Fabia, it’s me.” Matt sounded tired. “Are you still up?”

  “I am.”

  “Can I pop in, I’m just up the road.”

  “How come?”

  “Well, actually, I was on my way to see you, then realised what the time was, so I thought I’d better ring first.”

  She grinned, delighted at the idea of seeing him and hearing how things were going, but she wasn’t going to tell him that. “Okay,” she said, “come on round.”

  Five minutes later there was a soft knock at the door. When she opened it, Matt was leaning against the side of the porch, hands thrust into his trouser pockets, the picture of untidy exhaustion.

  “Sorry it’s so late,” he said.

  “No worries,” Fabia told him, and opened the door wider.

  He loped into the hall and followed her to the kitchen. “Where’s your visitor?”

  “She went upstairs a while ago. She had some work to do on her laptop. Have you eaten?” she asked.

  “No, too busy, been at it since six this morning. I seem to remember having a slab of lardy cake for breakfast, but nothing since then.”

  “Not exactly a healthy diet. Sit!” Fabia said.

  She got out eggs, bacon and tomatoes, cut some slices from a crusty granary loaf and put them in the toaster. “Do you want coffee or wine?”

  “Better be coffee, if I drink any wine, I’ll doze off driving home.” He leant his folded arms on the table and watched her as she went about preparing the food. When she’d placed a heaped plate in front of him, she poured herself a glass of wine and sat down opposite him. “Now tell me,” she said, “what’s been happening?”

  “Like I told you earlier today,” Matt said, through a mouthful of egg and bacon, “it looks like Mansell was poisoned with this animal tranquiliser. I put Chloe Daniels on to it–”

  “The black girl with the lovely plaits?”

  “That’s the one, she’s an excellent officer.”

  “I liked her. Bright as a button, I thought.”

  “I asked her to find out which veterinary practice the Mansells use. She’s a fast worker is Chloe, came back to me
within an hour. It’s that big practice between Castellgwyn and Brecon, Dysart & Jennings, and the chap that’s been dealing with the White Monk Abbey animals is a relatively new arrival by the name of Stewart Parker.”

  “You don’t think it was the vet that injected Caradoc?”

  “Anything’s possible at this stage, but what motive?”

  Fabia shrugged. “No idea. So, what else have you been doing today?”

  Matt didn’t say anything more until he pushed his empty plate away. “That was great,” he said and accepted more toast from Fabia. “Got any of that plum jam of yours?”

  Fabia smiled as she went to the fridge. “You’d eat that stuff by the spoonful given half a chance.”

  “No, on toast will do.” He spread the jam liberally, took an enormous bite, chewed for a bit then said, “Now, where was I?”

  “What else you’ve been doing since we spoke earlier.”

  He pushed back his hair, which promptly fell back over his forehead. “Once Pat had confirmed he was poisoned, we got the team together and went up to the Abbey.”

  “I bet they welcomed you with open arms.”

  “Of course,” he said, then added, “actually it wasn’t as bad as I expected.” Matt went through the family’s contrasting reactions. He made Fabia smile at some of his vivid descriptions: Nonna’s cool contempt, Megan’s panic, Delma’s fear and Rodric’s unsuccessful efforts to keep control of the situation.

  “The treasures in that place are incredible,” he said.

  “Tell me about it! Did you know they have a couple of paintings by Huw Wystan Jones?”

  “Who’s he?”

  “Matt! He was a Welsh impressionist, as good as some of the French school. I love his work.”

  “That can only add to your friend’s inheritance,” Matt said, then added. “You’d have thought someone would go for the granddaughter rather than the old man.”

  “But none of them knew she existed until a couple of days ago.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “Ye-es, as sure as I can be. Rodric certainly didn’t know until John Meredith told him. I was there when they were introduced, I could tell. Why do you ask?” Fabia said.

  “Well, that inheritance could present several people with a strong motive. Most of those we’ve talked about for a start.”

  “True. You’re definitely not hard up for suspects.” Fabia grinned at him and Matt scowled back.

  “Thanks for stating the obvious. Of course, there could be someone we don’t even know about yet; some old enemy who’s crawled out of the woodwork. Apparently, he wasn’t the easiest person to deal with.”

  Fabia got up to make him another coffee and replenish her glass of wine. “You’ll need to get on to John Meredith, get a look at the details of that will.”

  Matt’s scowl turned to a glare.

  “Of course,” Fabia added hastily, “I realise you would have thought of that.”

  “What I wanted to ask you is,” Matt went on, “what’s your impression of them all and their relationships? It’d be really useful to get some background before we do the detailed interviews with the family, and you’ve known them for some time, haven’t you?” Matt said. “So, tell me about the present family tensions.”

  Fabia frowned, where should she start?

  Matt noticed her hesitation. “Fabia, I need to get a feel for these people. Okay, I met them all this morning, but they were obviously on their guard. Other than John Meredith, who has an obligation to them as their solicitor, I don’t know anyone else to ask.”

  “Okay, but these are just impressions, nothing concrete.”

  “Fine,” Matt said, sounding impatient.

  “Don’t snap at me!”

  “Sorry.”

  Slowly and rather hesitantly Fabia began to describe her impressions of the Mansells, her family’s connections with them and her renewed contact since she and Megan had begun to work together. Amongst other things, she told him how Rodric had married Delma at university without even telling his family; that Megan and David Harris were an item but Caradoc didn’t know; that the whole family disliked Delma’s brother and resented his presence; and, finally, that Nonna, the ever-present mother figure, watched over them all with firm benevolence.

  Matt surprised her by saying, “You know those fairy stories of Megan’s? I think your style would suit that kind of thing.”

  “Do you think so?”

  “Yes. Fine pen and ink stuff, you’re good at that.”

  “Thank you,” she said, pleased and slightly embarrassed by this praise. She quickly changed the subject back to the Mansell family. “And of course, there’s Garan Price. His mother, Bella used to run the village shop. She and Caradoc remained good friends. In fact I believe Bella was one of the few true friends he had.”

  “We’ll be interviewing Garan Price. Do you know when his mother moved?” Matt asked.

  “Yes. When the powers that be took the post office away, the shop closed, and that’s when Bella moved up to Bangor. She’s living in an artists’ commune up there, suits her down to the ground.”

  “Sounds like you got to know her well after that cannabis incident.”

  “I did,” Fabia said, smiling. “Fellow artists and all that.”

  They sat in silence for a couple of minutes, each lost in their own thoughts, then Matt pushed himself up from the table. “Well, I must get going. Early start again tomorrow.”

  “No rest for the wicked,” Fabia said. “And, Matt, I don’t mind you coming to pick my brains. You know me, I’d much rather be involved than not.”

  “You, Fabia? Surely not!”

  She gave him a soft punch on the arm and grinned, but she was serious a moment later. “I know the family are friends, but if a killer’s to be caught, those personal considerations have to be put aside, don’t they?”

  As they walked down the hall, she was looking so anxious that Matt laughed. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep you in the loop.”

  When they got to the front door, he turned to face her. They were standing very close. Matt put up a hand and cupped her cheek and, for a long moment, neither of them moved or spoke, then Matt said, “Fabia, I–”

  But the mood was broken by the sound of a door upstairs being closed.

  Matt dropped his hand to his side. “And given who your house guest is, you’re already rather involved, aren’t you?”

  Fabia took a deep breath, trying to steady her heartbeat. She said, “I suppose I am.”

  Having waved Matt off, she made her way back to the kitchen, wondering what would have happened if Anjali hadn’t been there.

  Chapter 13

  At the end of a long day, Matt and Dilys sat in his office. He wanted her help to get things straight in his mind. The white board in the corner of the room bore witness to his deliberations, but he felt as if he was getting bogged down.

  “Okay, let’s start with Rodric Mansell,” Matt suggested, “what did you think?”

  “Not a particularly strong character,” Dilys said.

  “That’s what Fabia thinks.”

  Dilys made no comment. “I think he was probably a bit in awe of his father, but I’d say he cared about him. He seems genuinely upset by his death.”

  “I thought so too, but murder is upsetting, whatever the circumstances. Was it the death or the means that affected him most?”

  “I’d say both, and he seemed to know nothing about the changes in the will before his father died, which is what would present him with the strongest motive.”

  “Of course, he could be lying,” Matt said, “but I get the feeling he wouldn’t be a particularly good liar.”

  “I agree.”

  “Did you notice he said he leaves the stables entirely to his wife? He was very firm about that. Do you think he realised how that came across?”

  “You mean when it comes to the tranquiliser?”

  “Yes.” Matt frowned. “I’m not sure. He doesn’t seem to be a de
vious character and I wouldn’t have thought he’d deliberately drop his wife in it, that’d be pushing it a bit, even if they aren’t on good terms.”

  “I don’t know so much,” said Dilys, more of a cynic than Matt. “But still, he didn’t strike me as the vindictive sort, and you’d have to be to do that, wouldn’t you? On the other hand…”

  “On the other hand, what?” asked Matt when she didn’t go on.

  “Well, when we were questioning her about the use of a tranquiliser and asked about the vet, she went bright red and lost it a bit.”

  “Yes, I noticed that.”

  “What if she’s been having an affair with the vet and her husband found out?”

  “That’s something of a leap,” Matt said, “but it’s worth a bit more investigation. Has the vet– what’s his name?”

  “Stewart Parker from Dysart & Jennings,” Dilys said.

  “Has he been told we want to speak to him?”

  “Not yet. Best just turn up, I think, don’t want him forewarned.”

  “True,” Matt agreed. “What did you think of her otherwise?”

  “Delma?” Dilys said. “I think she’s a much more complex character than her husband. Interesting that she was studying to be a vet.”

  “Yes, Mrs Giordano made sure we knew that, didn’t she?”

  “I don’t think there’s any love lost between her and Delma Mansell,” Dilys said. “I wonder at what stage she dropped out of her degree. Do you want me to do a bit more probing on that?”

  “Please,” Matt said. “Another thing about her, I got the impression she’s very worried about her brother’s activities.”

  “She certainly didn’t like us asking how long he’d been in Wales. But then, if she knows about what he’s been up to, I suppose it follows that she’d be defensive.”

  “After all the work she seems to have put into those stables, you can hardly blame her for being angry about the terms of her father-in-law’s will – it’s a bit of a slap in the face.”

  “I know. Do you think her obsession with the horses provides her with a strong enough motive?”