Murder in the Valleys

by Pippa McCathie

  MURDER IN THE VALLEYS

  A cozy Welsh crime mystery full of twists

  PIPPA McCATHIE

  Published by

  THE BOOK FOLKS

  London, 2018

  © Pippa McCathie

  Polite note to the reader

  This book is written in British English except where fidelity to other languages or accents is appropriate.

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  We hope you enjoy the book.

  To Nino

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Acknowledgements

  Other titles of interest

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  Prologue

  She shouldn’t have come. She never should have come. The stinging blow made her head ring and brought her to her knees. She felt the rough stones of the bridge at her back and pushed against them, tried to stand up, but only managed to stagger sideways. Oh god, she must get up. But before she could try again, her hair was grabbed. Pain shot through her scalp as she was pulled to her feet. Someone screamed, she realised it was her. The next moment, hands came from behind and grabbed her neck, strong, hard fingers pressing, locking the breath in her throat.

  She was already dead when her body hit the water, unaware that an earring was torn from her ear as she fell, unaware that her bicycle followed her down, just missing her lifeless body. Someone stumbled down the muddy path at the side of the bridge. A moment later, footsteps retreated at a pounding run as the deep, rapid waters of the river Gwyn began to carry her away.

  Chapter 1

  The sound of agitated voices, reverberating eerily from somewhere above her head, stopped Fabia Havard in her progress towards the High Street. She listened, wondering where the sound was coming from. She was just below Pontygwyn bridge. Narrow and very old, it curved up and over the tumbling water of the river Gwyn. In parts its dank, damp stones were lichen covered, and here and there were signs of patchy restoration. The volume of traffic it had to deal with now was way beyond the carts, carriages and flocks of sheep it had carried in centuries past, and it had had to be reinforced more than once in the many hundred years of its long life.

  Fabia leant back and looked up, shading her eyes against the morning sun as she did so. She could see someone sitting on the parapet above. She recognised familiar jet-black hair, and the leather jacket with its splashes of garish colour. Amber Morgan. But who on earth was she lashing out at? It certainly sounded like one hell of a confrontation. Fabia was desperate to get home. She didn’t want to get involved in someone else’s quarrel, she had enough problems of her own. But it was no good, she had to investigate. Once a policewoman, always a policewoman, she thought bitterly.

  Turning, she began to trudge up the short but steep pathway carved into the bank. It would take her up the side of the bridge and on to the road above. Slipping and sliding on the ground, soft and muddy from all the rain they’d endured recently, she finally made it to the pavement. Once there, the two voices could be heard more clearly.

  Halfway across the bridge, Amber Morgan sat swinging her booted feet back and forth – thump, thump – against the stones. Her voluptuous figure threatened to burst out of the tight, plunging T-shirt and minute skirt she wore under the jacket. A contemptuous sneer twisted her full young mouth as she stared at the woman standing before her.

  Rhona Griffiths could not have been more of a contrast. Her birdlike figure was encased from mid-calf to neck in a coat of neat grey tweed, the only touch of colour a pink chiffon scarf tucked into the neck and the blue eyeshadow she always wore. Her cheeks were flushed and her improbably brown curls trembled, while her mouth worked as if she nibbled at the words before letting them out.

  “There’s a disgrace, you are!” Nibble, nibble, went her lips. “I have to say, Amber dear, I would expect better behaviour from a girl with your background.”

  “I’m not your dear.” Amber drew the word out sneeringly. “And what background’s that then?”

  “You know very well what I mean. I’m sure your parents would be ashamed of you.”

  “Shut up! Shut up!” Amber shouted, jumping down from the parapet. For a moment Fabia thought Amber was going to lash out. She took a step forward. All her police training told her she should intervene. But she’d worked so hard over the last two years to get out of that mindset. It wasn’t up to her to break up fights and pour oil on troubled waters any more.

  But it was no good, she couldn’t simply stand back and watch. “Come on you two,” she said as she stepped forward quietly, “this won’t do.”

  “I’ll thank you not to interfere, Fabia,” Rhona snapped, without taking her eyes off the girl in front of her. “Your behaviour, Amber, must be particularly upsetting to your dear father.”

  Amber, who seemed not to have noticed Fabia, thrust her face inches from the other woman’s. “My father’s dead, do you hear? Don’t you even dare mention him!”

  “Dear Murray–” but Rhona got no further.

  “Murray’s my step-father, you stupid bitch,” Amber shouted, “and I don’t care a fuck what he thinks. So why don’t you just bugger off?”

  “Amber–” Fabia began again, but this time they both ignored her.

  “I know the things you get up to,” Rhona spat out. “Don’t think I haven’t seen you and your disgusting friends. Hanging round smoking and drinking, and the good Lord knows what other lascivious activities.” Spittle sprayed from her mouth with the force of the words and her pearl-drop earrings shook as if they were as enraged as their owner. “A disgrace, you are! A disgrace! I shall be speaking to your mother about this.”

  “You go near my mother and I’ll kill you!” Any minute now Amber would hit her tormentor. Fabia stepped forward, about to intervene, but it didn’t happen. Rhona took a step back, stumbled on the edge of the pavement, teetered then recovered herself. A second later she’d pushed past Fabia and was walking rapidly away.

  Amber’s parting shot followed after the retreating back. “Why don’t you find yourself a man, you old bag? A good screw would make a new woman of you. Bye Felicia.”

  At last Fabia managed to make her presence felt. “Amber,” she said wearily, “do you have to talk to her like that? You know it’s asking for trouble. What’s that about Felicia anyway?”

  “Means she’s a nothing, a non-person.”

  “Amber! And what on earth was all that about?”

  Amber turned her dark, fiery eyes on Fabia and said blithely, “Hiya, how’s tricks? Didn’t see you there.”

  “Don’t give me that,” Fabia said.

  Amber grinned at her. “Well, I was so bloody angry with the poisonous old crone.”

  “Why?” Fabia asked.

  Amber shrugged, assuming a nonc
halance Fabia didn’t believe in for one moment. “She’s so bloody nosy,” she said, “objected to me sitting on the parapet, said I was damaging the bridge. And it’s not the first time she’s had a go at me. God, I hate her.”

  “I know she can be difficult, but you really shouldn’t be so rude to her.”

  The girl gave her a sulky glance. “Why? She asked for it. She’ll regret it, I’ll see to that.” She glared in the direction Rhona had taken. “And if she goes and bothers Mum I’ll – I’ll bloody scrag her.”

  “Nonsense,” Fabia said briskly, perturbed by Amber’s tone. Trying to sound convincing, she added, “And I doubt very much she will.”

  Fabia decided to change the subject. She knew from past experience there’d be no mileage in pursuing it now. Best save it for another time when Amber had calmed down. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready for that interview in Cardiff?” she asked.

  At this, the girl’s expression changed completely. Her eyes lit up with enthusiasm and a smile totally transformed her face. “Oh Fabia, I’m so looking forward to it, but dreading it too. I’ve got to be there at two this afternoon. I just can’t wait to show them my portfolio, but I’m really, like, nervous as well. I’d better go and get my stuff together.” Like quicksilver her mood changed again, doubt swept in. “You do think, you know, that I can do it, don’t you?”

  “Amber love, you’re a very talented artist, all you need is to be taught how to channel that talent. Go for it.”

  Amber grinned and flung her arms round Fabia, all her anger forgotten. “You’re the best. Thanks for all your help.”

  There was the roar of a motorbike and Amber turned to look in its direction. The bike drew up beside them. “Here’s my lift,” she told Fabia. It was young Craig Evans, son of the local publican, astride the machine.

  “Hello, Miss Havard,” he said, his voice muffled by his helmet. He handed Amber one and she put it on, then she turned back to Fabia.

  “I'll remember everything you’ve told me, everything.”

  “You do that, and behave yourself.”

  “Wouldn't know how, but I'm a pussycat really,” Amber said, giving Fabia another twisted grin.

  “Yes, one of the wild variety.”

  The girl laughed and waved as they headed off down the High Street.

  Fabia followed slowly in their wake, still disturbed by what she’d seen, but unable to think of anything to do about it.

  * * *

  It was half an hour later that Fabia had her second shock of the day. She was coming out on to Pontygwyn High Street from Reynold’s Cheese Shop when she looked up and there, on the opposite pavement, was a tall, loose-limbed man walking rapidly along. His glossy hair, the same shade as a newly born conker, blew back from his face as he walked, hands deep in his pockets. His eyes – clear grey, Fabia remembered, with thick, curling lashes – gazed straight ahead. Matt Lambert. She was utterly taken aback by her reaction. She felt it as a blow to the stomach, which, for a moment, deprived her of breath.

  For what felt like an age, she hesitated. Should she duck back into Reynold’s? Should she turn and go home; forget she’d seen him? Or call out his name and cross the road to speak to him? This was so stupid. Being indecisive was completely foreign to her nature, and yet still she stood there hesitating. And as she did so, as if he felt her eyes on him, he stopped in his tracks and looked round, straight at her. Recognition dawned, and Fabia watched as he too hesitated, made a small, uncertain gesture with his hand, then began to make his way rapidly across the street towards her.

  * * *

  Chief Inspector Matt Lambert had endured a boring meeting in Abergavenny about the new regional data protection policy. His mood was not good as he got into his car and began the journey back to his own station in Newport. What a bloody awful waste of time. Still, with luck he’d be back in his office under the hour.

  Three-quarters of an hour later he realised this had been wildly optimistic. Resurfacing work on the motorway had reduced traffic to a crawl and forced him to try smaller country roads. That was why he now found himself passing a road sign which welcomed him to Pontygwyn, and told him it was twinned with Brescia in Italy and Ploubalay in France. He did not want to be here. It brought back far too many memories. But he was also aware he wouldn’t get much further without petrol. What was more, he’d missed breakfast and was now hungry and thirsty. Like it or not, he’d have to stop.

  Having filled up the car, and rejected the dried-up apologies for sandwiches in the garage cool cabinet, he made his way down the High Street in search of more appetising fare. It was at this point he had that crawling feeling down his back that he was being watched. He stopped, looked round, and to his consternation, there she was. Just as he was now, she was standing stock still. Her mass of dark gold hair was whipped by the breeze and her wide grey eyes stared across at him. Nearly as tall as he was, he noticed that she’d lost some weight, although this didn’t detract in any way from her figure. He found himself lifting a hand, ready to wave, then, on impulse, made his way across the road without even checking the traffic, causing a screech of brakes from a passing lorry.

  “Fabia.” The air around them crackled with embarrassment and things left unsaid.

  “Matt,” was all she said in reply.

  “Long – long time no see.” For God’s sake, he thought, couldn’t he have found something more original to say?

  “Yes. Two years in fact.” Her tone was chilly. She obviously wasn’t going to make this easy for him. He wished he’d kept walking, then called himself a coward.

  “How are you?” he asked lamely.

  “Fine.” A meaningless word. He could tell she was no such thing. She went on, “I’ve finally retired now, just last week in fact.”

  He was taken aback by the wave of regret her words caused. What an awful waste. But all he said was, “I didn’t know. No more... um... sick leave then?” He saw a flash of anger in her eyes and could have kicked himself for putting it so badly.

  “No more so-called sick leave,” she spat it out. “I’m shot of it. No more Superintendent Havard either. Just Fabia Havard, artist and illustrator now.”

  “I’m sorry, that you’ve left the force, I mean.” He really was. She’d been one of the best police officers he’d ever known and there was a time they’d worked very closely together. And they’d been close in other ways too. He owed her a lot, he had to acknowledge that at least.

  Silence descended and stretched out, neither knowing what to say. Matt found it difficult to meet those penetrating eyes and glanced up and down the street, looking for a way to escape. Fabia just stood there, and he knew she wasn’t about to help him out of his predicament. He glanced at his watch. “Well, I should get going. It was good to see you.”

  She didn’t respond to this. Feeling a fool, Matt lifted a hand in farewell and made his way back up the High Street to his car without looking back, his need for food and drink completely forgotten.

  * * *

  Fabia watched him go, her heart beating fast, a lump in her throat; then she shrugged, turned, and continued on her way, along the High Street towards home.

  What a wasted opportunity. Why hadn’t she grabbed it, tried to repair the rift between them? Stupid woman. It’d take a lot more than one chance meeting to do that. What’s more, a small voice in the back of her mind told her it was up to Matt to make the first move. After all, he was the one who’d deserted her. And what a lie, to tell him she was fine when she so patently wasn’t.

  The last two years she’d been in limbo. She’d thought there’d be a sense of relief once the end came. But the finality of her retirement after the years of uncertainty had hit her much harder than she’d expected. And the anger over the way she’d been treated by her erstwhile bosses still gnawed away inside her. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy illustrating books, she did, and she was very lucky to have had a hobby that could so easily earn her a living, just about, at any rate. No, that wasn’t it. It
was all that unfinished business, and not just between her and Matt. Although she didn’t miss the routine and the hard slog of police work, nor the politics or the many frustrations, she did miss the intellectual battle, pitting your wits against the criminal, solving the puzzle, the companionship of like-minded people, and the occasional satisfaction of a good result.

  What a hell of a morning! First that row between Amber and Rhona and now this encounter with Matt.

  As she walked she thought back to Rhona and Amber. She knew Rhona well, not only because she was her next-door neighbour, but also because she was well known in Pontygwyn for snooping around in other people’s affairs. Fabia herself had been the subject of Rhona’s gossiping in the past and knew getting on the wrong side of her could make life difficult. Although she felt quite capable of looking after herself, she doubted the same would apply to Amber’s mother, Cecily, who was a gentle, timid woman. She’d be deeply upset if Rhona tackled her. Once she’d sorted out the shopping she’d done for her dinner party this evening, Fabia decided she’d give Cecily a ring, try to reassure her should Rhona have complained about Amber.

  By the time she got home a sense of foreboding had settled deep inside her, and she knew from experience it would be very hard to shift.

  * * *

  Amber was in a good mood. The interview had gone well, she was sure they’d offer her a place. It hadn’t taken as long as she’d thought it would and she’d managed to get a lift home from Cardiff. Bit of luck that. As a result, it was only half past six when she was dropped off at the end of her road, at least an hour earlier than she’d expected. He’d refused to take her as far as the house, but she didn’t mind. It was hardly surprising.

  She grinned to herself. He hadn’t seemed too happy to see her at first, but she’d soon made it worth his while. At least he’d been driving himself. She was pretty sure if anyone else had been with him, that chauffeur or whatever the man’s job was, they’d have sailed straight past without a glance. For a second, a lurch of apprehension hit her. Would he find out what she’d done? Did she care if he did? No, sod it, she thought, defiant.