Murder in the Valleys

by Pippa McCathie

  “I know who it is,” Fabia told them.

  “You do?”

  “Her mother and stepfather live on the other side of the village, up at Well House, by St Madoc’s School. He’s the deputy head. Cecily and Murray Cole.”

  “Rightio. A sad business. We’ll just keep an eye, like, until the team arrive. You’d best get back home now.” It was a polite dismissal. “Roberts can drive you back.”

  “No, I’ll walk.” But she didn’t move.

  “The SOCO team’s on its way.” Part of her was pleased at his use of the term to her. At least he’d acknowledged she’d know what he was talking about, maybe he’d recognised her. “And Chief Inspector Lambert will be here soon enough,” Pryce added.

  “Oh no!” It was out before she could stop it.

  He gave her a sharp glance. “Sorry?”

  “Never mind.” It just hadn’t occurred to her he’d be in charge, but it should have; after all this was his patch since his promotion. Poor Matt, how awful for him. Most policemen learnt how to deal with death in all its forms, but, with his history, this case would be very difficult for him to cope with. And, on top of that, to be faced with her as well. Fate was in a truly malicious mood today.

  “I expect he’ll be calling on you later,” Pryce said, his eyes still curious.

  “I know DCI Lambert. I used to work with him.”

  It was obvious it had finally dawned on him exactly who she was. He looked embarrassed and wouldn’t meet her eye, but his back straightened, as if he’d been about to stand to attention.

  “Ah yes, of course, ma’am. I’m sorry.” He gave her a slightly apologetic smile.

  “Not to worry,” Fabia said briskly. At least there was no tinge of contempt in his voice. “More important things for you to think about. I’ll leave you to it.”

  Slowly, feeling weary and miserable, Fabia trudged up the road towards home. It seemed an age since she’d woken that morning. She glanced at her watch. Only two o’clock. As she closed her gate behind her she hoped the squeak of its hinge wouldn’t attract Rhona’s attention. But even so, when Rhona didn’t appear to ask what was going on, Fabia wondered why.

  * * *

  Matt arrived at his office late that morning. He’d spent a restless night, unable to get thoughts of yesterday’s encounter with Fabia out of his mind. As a result, he’d overslept and it wasn’t until half past eight that he finally came to. Dragging himself out of bed, cursing as he did so, he threw on his clothes and slammed out of the flat. The journey from his flat to the station was short but frustrating, the usual early morning crawl not yet over.

  Once there, he left his car in the car park round the back, looking up at the building as he did so. Not for the first time he thought what a pity it was such an ugly structure. Built in the 1950s when money was short, it was a utilitarian four stories of concrete, discoloured now by rain and wind. An attempt had been made to brighten the place up by painting the window frames a once vivid green, but this had faded to an unpleasant slime colour, and the whole place was in sore need of several gallons of paint, preferably not the dirty grey colour it was at present. Even daffodils that someone had planted along the front of the building did little to cheer it, only looking, with their bowed heads, rather lonely and out of place. Still, nothing he could do about any of that now. Chief Superintendent Rees-Jones was hardly going to agree to money being spent on sprucing the place up, not when the force was understrength and stretched to its limits.

  Matt strode along the corridor to his office, took off his jacket, flung it over the back of his chair, and sat down to plough through the mountain of paperwork piled on his desk.

  By lunchtime he felt he was more or less on top of it all. The clear-up rate looked better than usual and, just so long as they didn’t have some big case come in, this month’s figures would be pretty good. But his optimism was short-lived. The phone rang.

  Matt picked up the receiver. His eyes widened and his fingers tightened as he listened. He slammed the phone down, then picked it up again almost immediately. After a couple of quick, curt conversations, he opened his door and called out, “Dilys, I need you.”

  * * *

  Sergeant Dilys Bevan, sitting at her desk in the main office, jumped up. She recognised that tone of voice. Something was up. The boss was definitely not happy. He’d been in a strange mood ever since he got back, late, from that meeting at Regional HQ yesterday, and then he’d been late again this morning. She wondered what was going on and hoped she’d find out now as she sat down in the chair opposite his desk. Glancing across at him she was shocked to see the look on his face, tight-lipped, his brows almost meeting above the bridge of his nose, his dark eyes bleak. What on earth was going on? But she didn’t ask, that wasn’t her way. She just waited for him to tell her.

  “I’ve just had a call from the local sergeant in charge of the Pontygwyn area. Do you know him?”

  “Glyn Pryce,” Dilys said, on safe ground now. She had a brain like a computer and always remembered every little detail. “Came to Gwent from the Rhondda force. Valleys boy, good bloke, keen but not that ambitious; keeps his ear to the ground, methodical and pretty efficient, I’d say.”

  Her boss nearly smiled, but not quite. “A man after your own heart,” he said.

  “You could say that.”

  Chief Inspector Lambert didn’t go on immediately. He pulled at his mouth with his long fingers, staring straight at her but not, she thought, really seeing her. Then suddenly he sat forward, as if he realised action was needed.

  “A body’s been discovered in the river Gwyn. Young girl, eighteen or thereabouts. Pryce was called in by the woman who found her.” He took a deep breath and Dilys wondered what was coming next. “She’s an ex police superintendent, Fabia Havard. I used to work with her, bit of a coincidence really. I bumped into her only yesterday on my way back from HQ.”

  There was something in his voice, his whole demeanour, that Dilys couldn’t fathom. A wariness, but more than that. She had the distinct impression he was deeply disturbed but couldn’t fathom why. A body in the river wasn’t that unusual, whether it was the Gwyn or the Usk, both were running high and that spelt danger. People went fishing, slipped, or got drunk and fell in. Perhaps it was to do with this Havard woman. Dilys remembered she’d been given extended sick leave, something to do with a fraud case that went pear-shaped. Perhaps that was it, maybe he didn’t want to have anything more to do with a policewoman with a murky past. There was no point speculating. He’d tell her what it was all about when he was ready.

  “Did Pryce say if they know who the girl was?”

  “Yes. A youngster called Amber Morgan.”

  “That rings a bell, but I can’t remember why.”

  “Her stepfather’s deputy head of St Madoc’s school, that expensive place for the kids of the rich just outside Pontygwyn. Anyway, the SOCO unit’s on its way. I’ve told Pryce we’ll be there as soon as we can, and I’ve had a word with the team, Pat Curtis included.”

  His tone said it all. Dilys grimaced. Dr Curtis, the regional pathologist, wasn’t known for her accommodating nature. But Matt didn’t elaborate. “Let’s go,” he said as he pushed himself up out of his chair with none of his usual enthusiasm for the start of a new case.

  What the hell’s the matter with him? Dilys wondered. The sooner I find out what the hell’s going on, the better.

  Chapter 4

  “I remember now why Amber Morgan’s name sounded familiar,” Dilys said as she pulled out into the traffic.

  Matt’s thoughts had been miles away, years back, in a place he’d prefer not to be. Her tone pulled him back to the present. It was a relief.

  “That drugs investigation at the Golden Monkey, she was one of the youngsters on the list to be interviewed, along with Craig Evans whose parents run The Oaks pub in Pontygwyn, and Vanessa Breverton, you know, the MP’s daughter.”

  “I remember now. Weren’t we due to interview all three of them?
The community team was going to talk to Amber Morgan and Craig Evans, but the chief put a block on seeing the Breverton girl. Neville Breverton, a junior minister now, by the way, is a pal of his it seems.” Matt gave a derisive snort. “Usual story.”

  “This rather concentrates the mind, doesn’t it? Do you think there could be a connection?”

  “God knows. We’ll have to wait and see. But it does rather bring the drugs aspect into sharp relief.”

  “Or it could have nothing whatever to do with it,” Dilys said. “Anyway, what else have we got?”

  “She was found dead in the River Gwyn, probably drowned, could be a suicide. Fabia Havard found the body.”

  Dilys gave him a sharp enquiring look. “Wasn’t she that Superintendent who had to be given so-called sick leave?”

  Matt felt his teeth clench, this was all so unbelievable. “Yes, and it wasn’t ‘so-called’ sick leave.”

  “I thought she was tied up with some corruption scandal.”

  “You thought wrong,” he snapped.

  “Sorry, sir.” She sounded offended, but he didn’t care. He was having a hard enough time dealing with this situation as it was. How he dreaded the next few hours! Too many memories to be dredged up, too many similarities. Usually he managed to detach himself. You had to. Self-preservation. But there were times when he couldn’t. The drowning of a young woman brought it all back, his sister, Bethan, cold and waxy, dragged out of the Usk. Identifying her body like an automaton, don’t cry, don’t break down. Do it. Get it over. And on top of that, there was Fabia who’d been there for him all through that terrible time; Fabia, whom he’d not spoken to for two years until yesterday.

  Matt dragged himself back to the present. “I gather the girl is... was a bit of a rebel. As Pryce said, she’s come to our attention, but nothing serious, and nothing proved. Usual business with that Golden Monkey crowd.” He paused and gazed miserably out at the passing traffic.

  “And the SOCO team’s meeting us down there?”

  “Yes. They’ll have everything set up by the time we arrive, and Dr Curtis, she should be there by now. She says she’ll perform the post-mortem this evening if needs be.”

  “There’s quick,” Dilys said, giving him a curious glance.

  But all he said was, “I persuaded her.”

  They drove the rest of the way in silence and, ten minutes later, were pulling up on the grass above the now busy scene. A police van and two other cars were already there and the area had been cordoned off with plastic tape. Matt pulled a pair of Wellingtons out of the boot of the car and noticed, as he did so, a small crowd of people standing a few yards away. They were avidly stretching and staring for a good view, but were being kept back by two uniformed constables. His mouth twisted in disgust and a wave of anger churned in his stomach.

  “What is it with these ghouls? Haven’t they got anything better to do?”

  “No different from the usual, sir. It’s human nature.”

  “One of its less attractive aspects.”

  Having identified themselves to the PC on guard, they ducked under the tape and made their way down to the river bank. A stocky uniformed sergeant turned and saw them, then made his way towards them.

  “Chief Inspector Lambert? Sergeant Pryce, sir. “Nasty one this. Always is, mind, when it’s a youngster.”

  Matt nearly snapped that this was a statement of the obvious, but bit it back. Instead he said, “We’ve got some of the info. Go through it again, would you?”

  With admirable brevity, Pryce gave them all the salient facts and finished off with a quick update. “We’ve got the body out. Dr Curtis says she definitely didn’t go into the water here, must have been further up, maybe off the bridge if she was a jumper. With all this rain, the river’s running fast so the distance fits. The SOCOs are on the bank over by there at the moment.”

  Just ahead of them was an enclosure of plastic sheeting. After struggling into regulation overalls, they made their way towards it, pulling on surgical gloves as they did so.

  As he elbowed the flap aside and went into the claustrophobic little tent, Matt had a desperate urge to turn and run. In the enclosed space, the dank smell of the river hit him, and something less pleasant. He stopped dead just inside, unable for a moment to go further. But he had to pull himself together. This wasn’t Bethan. This was some unknown girl. And there was no way it could be avoided. He steeled himself, his lips in a tight line, the muscles in his cheeks taut over his clenched teeth.

  * * *

  Inside the enclosure, two people in identical paper overalls were bending over the body which lay on a plastic sheet on the muddy grass. One of them looked up, a woman with short blonde hair and a sharp, intelligent face.

  “You took your time getting here,” Pat Curtis snapped. Not for the first time Matt wondered why she was so abrupt. Maybe it was the nature of her job, although there was a theory at the station that she’d been disappointed in love, but he didn’t subscribe to that idea. That’d hardly make her into the human version of a hornet. Having her on the case would just add to his dislike of it, but there was nothing to be done about it. He took a deep breath and refused to rise to the bait, just nodded and said, “Afternoon, Dr Curtis.”

  She stood aside so that he could come closer, and he bent to get his first clear view of the body.

  Black clothes clung damply to shiny skin. The girl’s face – glassy pale, blue-tinged – was streaked with mud, slimy weed, and strands of black hair. On one side, a long silver earring was still in place, the other was missing, and there was a tear in the lobe. Matt felt a churn of anger and revulsion. Another young life cut brutally short. For a moment he bent closer and, with one long finger, gently lifted a clinging strand of hair away from the dead cheek. “What’s this?”

  “Bruising,” Pat Curtis said, her tone implying the question was stupid, “possibly caused before she went into the water. There’s bruising on the neck as well.”

  Matt looked up at her with a sharp frown. “You don’t usually proffer information so early.”

  “That may well be true, but this is very clear.”

  “D’you mean someone hit her? Or tried to strangle her?”

  “Good Lord, how can I tell yet? You’ll just have to wait until I’ve completed the PM before I can give you any more.”

  “Anything else to indicate how she ended up here?”

  “Not yet.” She scowled at him. “Like I said, you’ll just have to wait.”

  “Okay.” Matt risked just one more question. “But you think perhaps not a jumper?”

  Pat gave an irritated sigh. “I don’t know yet, okay?”

  Knowing it would be just as well to have her on his side, he made an effort to contain his impatience. No good pushing too hard. She’d just dig her heels in, and that was the last thing he wanted. “Thanks for saying you’ll get the PM done so soon. It’ll be a great help. What time?”

  “As soon as we get through here. Have you sorted identification?”

  “We’re about to. Anyway, thank you,” he said, still trying his best to be conciliatory. He got up and turned to Dilys who was standing quietly waiting for him.

  “Where’s Pryce?”

  Before she could answer, “Here sir,” came a voice from just outside, and a second later his face appeared round the flap of the tent.

  “Get them searching for the pair to that earring, would you? It’s important we find it, could tell us where she went into the water.”

  “Will do. Anything else?”

  “Not at the moment.” He turned to Dilys. “We’d better go and see the parents now. Ghastly job, hate it; let’s get it over with.”

  As they left the park a car passed them and was stopped at the gate by the policeman on duty. Matt recognised a reporter and photographer from the Newport Evening News. “The vultures are here already,” he said sourly.

  “Nothing we can do about that, sir.”

  “No. But it won’t make our job on the d
rugs aspect any easier – if there’s a connection.”

  Dilys gave him a sharp look. “You think there may be?”

  “No idea, but it’s a possibility if she was part of that crowd.” He sat in brooding silence for a moment. “Maybe she didn’t pay up on time, or perhaps she threatened to turn them in.”

  As Dilys came up to the junction and prepared to turn right into the High Street, he straightened.

  “Turn left here,” he said suddenly.

  Dilys jammed on the brakes. “Why left?”

  “I want to go and have a look at that bridge.”

  She did as she was told without argument and, just before they got to the bridge itself, turned off on to a grass verge.

  Matt got out of the car and gazed back across the river and Gwiddon Park to the houses beyond. Through the trees he could just see glimpses of the police vehicles and the plastic tent, signs of movement and activity. Carefully he leant over the parapet of the bridge and looked down at the rushing water. It was definitely running fast, and it was deep here, the water clearer, with few rocks or branches for anything to get snagged on. It wasn’t until the river neared the bend which took it down to the pond that there were a few rocky inlets, traps waiting to catch anything the water brought along. Turning, he walked back across the bridge, head down, searching.

  Dilys followed him. “What are you looking for?”

  “I don’t know. Anything that might help.”

  “Shouldn’t we leave it to the SOCOs–” Dilys’s voice tailed off as his head snapped round to look at her. Matt stopped himself just in time. It wouldn’t be fair to take things out on Dilys, particularly as she was right. Still, he told himself, a quick look would do no harm.

  “Just having a preliminary look,” he said shortly. A moment later he turned and walked slowly back, this time studying the parapet on the park side of the bridge. Inch by inch he ran his eye over the ancient brickwork, looking for he knew not what. He was nearly across when he gave a little exclamation, bent down, and studied the parapet more closely.