by Jan Newton
‘I’ve done that already, but feel free.’ Rhys grinned, wheeled his chair back to his desk, picked up the purse and wheeled himself back again. ‘There’s nothing in there.’
‘I know. You said.’ Julie unzipped the purse and tipped the change onto her desk. ‘So what’s this then, Scotch mist?’
‘Eh?’ Rhys frowned. ‘It’s a euro, I think, isn’t it? Someone’s just slid it into her change and diddled her out of a quid.’
‘It is a euro, but why assume she was given it by mistake?’
‘Well she wasn’t globe-trotting with no luggage was she, Sarge? And there’s no passport is there?’ He leaned back in his chair and watched her face.
‘Good point. But with a name like Rosa Quigley, the dodgy shamrock tattoo and the lack of absolutely anything else at all,’ she grinned at him. ‘You will have observed that I’m totally clutching at straws.’ She scooped everything back into the bag and snapped off her gloves.
‘Let’s call it a day, Rhys. I don’t know about you, but I can’t see the wood for the trees.’
Rhys needed no second bidding and reached up to turn off his computer. Julie crossed the office and stood, watching Swift through his window. He was deep in thought, leaning back in his chair with his hands laced behind his head. She knocked on his door and he rocked back to attention.
‘Any thoughts, Sergeant?’
‘For a second there, I did wonder if she had come over from Ireland, but that might have been a thought too far. And I suppose even the geographically challenged Mrs P might have noticed an Irish accent.’
Swift smiled. ‘I spotted your displeasure at being accused of being from Yorkshire. I didn’t realise it was such a big deal.’
‘So, you don’t remember the Wars of the Roses then, Sir? It was very big in some parts.’ She laughed. ‘They still call cricket matches between Lancashire and Yorkshire the Roses Matches.’
‘I stand corrected,’ Swift said. ‘Do we have anything at all from her luggage?’
Julie shook her head. ‘There’s nothing in her belongings to suggest where she came from or where she was intending to go. Rhys is going to chase up to see if she had a mobile phone, and he’s still waiting for his cross-matched dental records. For some reason there’s a delay, but we’re not sure why.’
‘I’ll have a play with this map and see if I can find out where this is.’ Julie wafted the city fragment towards Swift. ‘Can I take a copy of it to look at when I get home?’
Swift nodded. ‘I don’t have a problem with that, but you should make sure you have a bit of time away from it all too. I think Gwen’s probably kept me sane over the years, insisting work stays at work.’
‘I bet you don’t stop thinking about it at home though, Sir?’
‘Well there’s not a lot she can do about that, is there?’ Swift smiled. ‘But she’d be unhappy if I took actual physical work home. She swears by recovery time, does Gwen. Thinks hobbies are a cure for work.’
‘So what are your hobbies, Sir?’ Julie grinned. She couldn’t imagine Craig Swift doing anything remotely sporty or growing his own veg.
‘There’s nothing wrong with your interrogation technique, is there, Sergeant?’
‘I’m just curious.’
‘Well, as you ask, I sing in a male voice choir.’
‘No women allowed then, Sir?’
‘That’s the idea.’
‘Are you allowed to do that these days, keeping women out of your choir? Isn’t that a bit non-PC?’
‘I don’t suppose the ladies’ choir would be too happy if we asked to join them either.’ Swift laughed. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of a male voice choir?’
‘Nope.’
‘Well that’s disappointing, Julie. There are choirs all over your part of the world too. Mind you,’ Swift smiled, ‘they’re not as good as ours here in Wales.’ Julie missed Swift’s gentle challenge and didn’t reply. ‘I was joking, Julie. I’m sure they’re just as good in Manchester.’
‘Sorry, Sir, I was just thinking about what you said about Gwen and work. Adam says I need a hobby.’
‘So, what do you like doing in your spare time?’ Swift closed the lid of his laptop and looked up at her. She was blushing.
‘Well, I… er, I do a lot of reading.’
‘I may be barking up completely the wrong tree here, but I suspect that may well be work-related research?’
‘Well yes, that’s some of it.’
Swift shook his head, pushed himself back from his desk and stood up. ‘You need time away from all this,’ he waved a chubby hand over the contents of his desk. ‘You’d go mad if you didn’t.’
Julie nodded. ‘You sound just like Adam. He’s a great believer in down time. Mind you, I wouldn’t have the energy for his sort of down time.’ She glanced at the fragment of map in her hand. ‘It’s hard to switch off though, Sir, when there’s someone like Rosa lying there in the mortuary. There must be people out there somewhere, worrying about her.’
‘I know, but all we can do is be methodical and determined, and not beat ourselves up too often. There’s been nothing interesting from Llangurig or the western end of the Monks’ Trod either.’ Swift sighed. ‘I think you and I should do a little detour round the reservoirs in the Elan Valley tomorrow. I think you need to take a look at the layout of the area and see if that helps put the place where she was found into perspective. We can call in on those neighbours of Mal’s on the way back and see what they have to say for themselves. It’s probably nothing, just Mal being touchy about his age, but it might be worth a little look.’
‘Have we heard any more about cause of death from the doc yet, Sir?’
‘We have, but I’m not entirely happy with it. She says that despite the evidence of a large amount of historic and recent heroin usage, now she’s had the toxicology reports back, she thinks it was almost certainly the blow or blows to the head that actually killed her.’
‘Oh great, the ambiguous blunt instrument.’ Julie said. ‘And you’re not happy because what? That means it’s more than likely that she was high as a kite and fell against that rock she was sitting next to when she was found?’
‘Do I detect a note of your well-honed Manchester sarcasm there, Sergeant Kite?’
‘Me, Sir? Sarcastic?’ Julie laughed. ‘Could be. I don’t know I’m doing it. But go on, tell me why you think she couldn’t have done it herself. She’s riddled with track marks and despite the damage caused by the possible gluten problem, she has all the hallmarks of drug abuse.’
‘So she hit her head twice in her stumblings by the rock?’
‘It’s possible.’
‘And the fox that damaged her left hand ran away with the syringe and any other drug paraphernalia she may have had with her, did it? We didn’t find anything in her belongings to indicate that she was using at the actual time of her death, did we? If she was so out of it how did she get up there in the first place?’
‘True, but if it was her who went back to the B&B that night, she could have disposed of it then or the following morning. It doesn’t prove she wasn’t still using, does it?’
Swift tugged his ear, then took off his glasses and put them on his desk. ‘No, but she didn’t know anything was going to happen to her did she? Why should she have disposed of anything? Besides, Mrs Pritchard swears Rosa was right handed. She made her sign a registration card.’ Swift rubbed his eyes and put his glasses back on. ‘I phoned her just now. She said Rosa wouldn’t leave an address, but she did sign the card, after a fashion, but she appeared to have trouble holding the pen properly. So, I phoned Kay Greenhalgh too.’
Swift was enjoying his moment but Julie could hide her impatience no longer. ‘And the broken bones in her arm almost certainly meant that she wouldn’t have been able to inject herself with her right hand. She wouldn’t have been able to put enough pressure on the syringe’s plunger to inject into her left arm, and no doubt that’s where Kay thinks the most recent track marks are
.’
Swift looked crestfallen, but only for a second. ‘Got it in one, Julie. The doc says there’s no way she could have done it herself. And she certainly couldn’t have spirited away the evidence. Besides, she thinks the last time Rosa injected was a while before she died.’
‘So, we know who she was and we have an idea of how she died.’ Julie shook her head. ‘But until we can work out the why, we’re just pissing in the wind.’
‘Sergeant Kite!’ Swift looked shocked, but his features rapidly morphed into a grin. ‘Can women do that then? In my experience, it’s only us men who suffer from random vagueness which comes back to haunt us. Women seem to be very much more direct.’
Julie blushed. ‘Sorry, Sir. That was one of my old sergeant’s favourite expressions.’
‘Don’t apologise,’ Swift laughed. ‘Get yourself off home. I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning and we’ll go to the Elan Valley and have a nosey round. Let’s say eight o’clock at the post office in Newbridge.’
CHAPTER NINE
Day Two
Julie drove along the single-track road between what passed as a main road in these parts and the cottage she now called home. The ground rose just as steeply skywards on the right and plummeted just as sharply down to the burbling little Chwefru river on her left as it had in April, but somehow, even in that short space of time, the topography had begun to seem more normal. There was even an additional, slightly less annoying gate across the road now that the weather was kinder and sheep were roaming on the hill, but she was already less impatient with the impediments of rural living.
In a small field by the second, less easy gate (which required dragging, scraping, swearing and lifting), Joe Morgan, their landlord, sat on his quad bike watching Julie’s progress. Behind him, a black and white collie gazed down at the ewes, daring them to make a run for it.
‘You still haven’t got the knack, then?’
Julie clanged the heavy metal gate against the post, lifted it with difficulty and shot the bolt home into its horseshoe catch. ‘It’s nowt to do with knack and everything to do with someone not putting a decent set of hinges on this thing.’
‘You’re just too slow. Give it a good swing.’
Julie glared at him. ‘I’ll swing for you one of these days, Joe Morgan,’ she muttered, just quietly enough for him not to hear over the rumble of the quad.
Joe grinned. ‘What would I do for sport if I mended him, then?’
Julie shook her head. ‘So, what’s new? I suppose you know all about our latest local difficulty?’
‘That I do.’ Joe nodded sagely. ‘Nasty business that, with a young girl too. They’re saying she was killed.’
‘Who are?’ Julie raised an eyebrow. She knew full well that the local grapevine was better than anything she had encountered in Manchester. She was still surprised not to read all about their daily progress in the Brecon and Radnor or the County Times.
‘Folk,’ Joe said. ‘They say you don’t know who she is.’
‘Do they? Well maybe if they find out first, they’d be good enough to let us know.’
‘They will, be sure of it,’ Joe said. He turned to pat the collie and the dog stared up at him, his mission to guard the sheep forgotten at the attention from his master. ‘Menna tells me you might be thinking about going out riding with her.’
‘I’m still just thinking. I’m thinking mostly that I’d be totally rubbish,’ Julie said. ‘But it must be nice to wander round the forestry tracks on a horse. It’s so flipping steep to walk round here.’
‘Well,’ Joe smiled and kicked the quad into gear, ‘the offer’s still there, you’re welcome to ride Cam any time. He could do with a bit of attention.’ Then he was gone, bouncing across the field, his collie hanging on for grim death behind him and sheep scattering to all sides.
Julie watched him go and shook her head. She never knew when he was being serious. They had almost come to blows as soon as she had arrived after a misunderstanding about incomers and foreigners. At least now she knew that Joe considered her the ‘right sort’ of incomer. God help the others, she thought as she climbed back into the car.
Adam had his bike upside down on the drive. It stood balanced on handlebars and saddle, and both wheels were lying on the ground. Julie could tell before she even got out of the car that he was not best pleased.
‘You had a puncture?’
‘Well done, Sherlock.’ Adam threw a tyre lever into his tool box and scowled. ‘Both tyres are shot.’
‘Right. That was unlucky, then, they’re new aren’t they? Were you far from home? You should have phoned me.’
‘I was still at school. Andy gave me a lift home in his Land Rover. And there would have been no point phoning you, would there? Not with you working on a case.’
‘Fair point. I would have probably been useless, as per.’ Her face was serious.
Adam laughed. ‘Sorry, Jules. It’s not your fault, but it’s damned annoying.’
‘Still, it could have been worse. You could have had a blowout on your way back from Brecon. You wouldn’t stand a chance coming down that gradient into Garth if your tyre went, would you?’
‘I don’t think this was wear and tear though, Jules, you’re right, these tyres are practically new. I think someone did this deliberately.’
Julie frowned. ‘Are you serious? You really think someone vandalised your tyres?’ She prodded one of the tyres with the toe of her shoe.
‘It looks that way. The holes are too big and too symmetrical to have been made by a nail or a thorn. It looks as though someone has stuck the tip of a knife into them.’ Adam waved one of the offending articles under her nose. ‘What do you think, Sergeant. Criminal damage?’
‘Could be. Would it be one of the kids, maybe? Have you ticked any of them off lately?’
‘I can’t see it. They’re a great bunch in Builth. If this never happened at a school in inner city Manchester it’s even less likely that the kids here would do it.’
‘So that leaves a member of staff or an irate passer-by with nothing better to do with his bread knife then?’
‘I don’t suppose you could –.’
‘If you’re going to say what I think you’re going to say, then I’d say “on yer bike”, Mr Kite, there’s no way this is a police matter.’
‘Fair enough.’ Adam laughed. ‘Come on, let’s eat. I’ve done a lovely lentil dhal.’
Julie rolled her eyes. ‘Oh my. What have I done to deserve this?’
‘Don’t say anything until you’ve tried it.’
‘Hmm. You don’t fancy a trip to Pontrhydfendigaid do you?’
‘My, you’ve been practising your pronunciation. Why Pont?’
‘Well, it’s the other end of the Monks’ Trod. I just thought it would be nice to get an idea of where everything is in relation to where the incident was.’
‘Where the body was found?’
‘Yes, all right, where the body was found.’
‘Yep, we can do. But we’ll eat first shall we, just in case you’ve decided it’s an excuse to find a takeaway.’
Adam said he’d drive so she could take in the sights. They turned right onto the main road in the direction of Beulah.
‘This is a pig of a hill on a bike,’ Adam said.
‘I can only imagine,’ Julie said, calculating the odds of her ever finding out. The road plunged downhill in a series of bends and after three miles, Adam turned right into the village with its pub and petrol station and shop.
‘Civilisation,’ Julie said. ‘And an A-road.’
‘Don’t get used to the idea,’ Adam said, turning first right. They passed a handful of bungalows and drove over a bridge.
‘Was that it?’
‘You’ll love this road.’
‘How can you love a road, Adam?’
‘Look on your map.’
‘This isn’t like any road I’ve ever been on,’ Julie said, following the tiny yellow lane with its collection of craz
y bends and gradients picked out with black arrowheads on the map. ‘So this is on your list for a bike ride?’
‘Just as soon as that bell goes a week on Friday.’
‘From this map it looks as though there are one or two sections that even you could find a bit of a challenge.’ Julie smiled. ‘Though I’m sure a little thing like vertical tarmac won’t put you off.’
The road took them past a small church and bent to the left, into trees. As the road swung sharply right and began to climb, Julie was forced to look up from the map. ‘People pay good money for this sort of experience at Blackpool Pleasure Beach.’
‘It gets even more interesting in a little while,’ Adam said, squeezing his car tightly into the side of the road to let a van through and causing Julie to discover vertigo she never knew she had. She turned away from the chasm-like drop to her immediate left.
