“Look, there’s no point in beating about the bush. You’re bound to find out soon enough, and anyway, I’ve got nothing to hide.” He thrust his hands deep into his pockets and stood there, creating the perfect picture of bluff honesty. “At the end of last year, Amber and me, we had a bit of a thing going,” he said. “Just a bit of fun it was. Not serious on either side.”
“Was that how Amber viewed it?”
“Yea, sure. She was a sharp kid, that one. Knew her way around. Anyway, when my woman found out about it – that’s Mel Franklin, the model you know – Vogue, Marie Claire, you name it, she’s done it. Well, when she found out all hell broke loose, so Amber and me called it a day. She was a bit miffed at first, but needs must when the devil drives, eh? And Mel can be one hell of a devil at times!”
He grinned, appealing for Matt’s understanding, man to man. Matt didn’t respond and, after a tiny pause, Vaughan shrugged and went on. “There weren’t really any hard feelings between Amber and me, not so’s you’d notice. And that’s all there was to it. When we were seeing each other I gave her discs, samples like, and got her tickets for gigs, arranged for her to meet the boys in the group, Death’s Head, that is.” It was obvious he thought they should be impressed. “All that stuff was a kind of thank you. I always like to give my girls presents, like to be generous with them.”
“And Miss Franklin is happy with the situation now?”
“Umm, yeah.” It was a long, drawn-out sound. For the first time he didn’t sound quite so sure of himself. “Had a bit of a paddy at first, but she’s cool now. Mel’s all mouth.”
Takes one to know one, Matt thought.
“Just blows up and blows over, end of story. Anyway, she’s had her little peccadilloes, so she can hardly make much of a fuss about mine. Most of the time we understand each other, Mel and me, and she knows what I’ll stand for and what I won’t. She’d better. She gets enough out of me, for Christ’s sake.”
His tone had become harsh and Matt wondered what was behind this. He decided to probe, “In what way?” he asked blandly.
Vaughan gave him a sharp look, then grinned, but Matt was sure he was covering up a slip of some kind. “Money, jewellery, holidays, you name it, I pay for it,” Vaughan said. “She’s no angel, Mel, and to be fair, she’s in a stressful profession. They live pretty fast, these models, always on pills and diets and that. I look after her, keep her on the straight and narrow as much as I can. Sometimes she strays, and I have to reel her in. Still, we suit each other, most of the time.”
“Is Miss Franklin at home sir?” Matt asked. “We will need to speak to her at some point.”
“Why’s that?”
“We’ll be speaking to everyone who had anything to do with Amber. It’s routine in a case like this.”
“But Mel – ah well, you know your business. But I’m afraid you’ll have to wait, she’s gone up to town, London that is. Should be back on Tuesday if you really have to speak to her.”
“We do,” Matt said firmly. “I’ll contact her then. Now sir, your relationship with Amber Morgan, it ended when, exactly?”
“Middle of December last year, but we were still friends. Like I said, she was a good kid, and a looker too.”
“When you saw her last – three weeks ago you say – there was nothing about her that seemed unusual?”
“No. She was pretty chipper. She’d got herself a new boyfriend.”
This was sounding more useful. “What made you think that?”
“She told me.” He threw himself into a chair opposite them. “Said she’d found herself this new man and he was loaded and – how did she put it?” He frowned and pulled at his bottom lip. “Something about not just money this time but power as well.”
“Did she mention a name?” Matt asked.
“No. I asked her, but she wouldn’t tell me. Went all mysterious on me when I pushed it. I got the impression he wouldn’t have wanted it known.”
“And have you any idea what she meant by money and power?”
“’Fraid not, but she was certainly pleased with herself. I wished her luck. It was about time she had something go right for her. With her background, she deserved it.”
Matt’s eyebrows rose. This was a new tack. “What do you mean by that?”
“Look, I’m one of seven kids. I get on with most of my brothers and sisters, see some of them regular. Me old Mum’s still around, still clouts me round the ear if I talk out of turn.” He grinned at them, turning on the charm full blast. “I’ve always got me family even if my other relationships go pear-shaped. Well, Amber’s own dad died when she was a nipper, that’s a terrible thing to happen to a kid; then her mum ups and marries again and she and her step-dad don’t get on. It happens. Okay, so he’s a nice enough bloke, and he tries hard to do right by her, but he’s not her own dad, and he was always going on at her to concentrate on maths and English and all that, never thought her art was up to much. And she was good, I tell you, bloody good. What’s more, he mixes with all these nobby types, yer up-tight public-school crowd, so she never felt she fitted in. It’s no wonder she went off the rails a bit. Like I said, she had a hard time, and now this happens. Life’s just not fair, is it?”
A small part of Matt had a sneaking admiration for the performance, but he was quite sure the lovable London lad scenario was a front. He wondered what Paul Vaughan was really like and where he actually came from, because the accent didn’t quite ring true. There wasn’t a shadow of a doubt he’d be ruthless in business, no-one could make this kind of money without it. And Matt had plenty of experience of his type: rich businessmen, some of whom hovered on the edge of the criminal world and employed expensive lawyers to get them out of a hot spot when necessary. And something else was puzzling him. Why was a man like this living in a small town in South Wales? It just didn’t seem to fit. Unless he had business interests in the area. That could be reason enough, he supposed. But surely, with the Internet and all the modern communication aids, he could run a business from anywhere in the country. Chloe Daniels, Matt decided, could add Paul Vaughan to her researches and maybe something really interesting would turn up.
Of course, Matt thought, Fabia would probably know quite a lot about him already. She kept her ear to the ground and always knew just what was going on around her, and that memory of hers, how he envied her that. He’d give a lot to pick her brains about all this, maybe he should go ahead and do so, after all it might help with the investigation and he really shouldn’t pass up an opportunity to glean more information. But as he and Dilys drove back down the drive, away from Bryn-y-Mor Lodge, the misery that had been lurking at the back of his mind all morning crept up on him once again.
* * *
Their next port of call was the vicarage. Dilys parked, and Matt looked up at the attractive squat stone building of St Cybi’s church. It had a comforting, solid air about it. No tall spire, just a square tower which, Matt noticed, leant very slightly to the left. He wondered how long it would take before it would lean too far. But it’d probably been like that for centuries – Pontygwyn’s own Tower of Pisa. In the surrounding graveyard lichen-coated headstones were embedded in the soft earth, some at strange angles, with the occasional more recent polished granite stone amongst them. There were splashes of colour from primroses, daffodils and narcissi in amongst the gravestones, and from bunches of flowers that people had placed on the graves. The whole place had a comfortable air, giving the impression it had grown organically out of the surrounding landscape.
The vicarage next door, on the other hand, looked a little out of place. It was a small, rather boring square building of dun-coloured brick, probably built in the 1950s, the windows rather small and placed high in the walls. It must make it rather dark and gloomy inside, Matt thought.
As they got out of the car, a woman with wildly curling hair, wearing a red coat, appeared from round the side of the church. Matt noticed her clerical collar, although in all other respects she was nothi
ng like any vicar he’d ever met. His father had been a high church, unworldly theologian. His brother had followed in his footsteps, although Matt had to admit he did have rather more contact with the real world. But this, this was something entirely different.
He stepped forward. “Reverend Temple?” he enquired. Matt introduced himself and explained why they wanted to speak to her. She was immediately serious.
“A terrible business. Well,” she flapped a hand in the direction of the front door. “You’d better come in.”
Chapter 18
They followed Cath Temple through to her study and, as they settled on a low, sagging sofa, Matt looked round with interest. The room felt familiar in its shabbiness, books piled everywhere, a cassock hanging on the back of the door, various pamphlets and hymn sheets in chaotic piles, and a large wooden crucifix hanging up above the desk. But one thing his father had never had in his study was a small mirror with bits and pieces of make-up on the bookshelf beside it.
He looked round at the framed photographs dotted about, some family groups, one of Cath Temple in a university gown, another of her in full vestments. Looking at the woman before him he felt sure she had her feet firmly on the ground. The plain neatness of her grey trousers and pale blue jumper were at odds with her riot of brown curls, but the face below them was intelligent, almost sharp. Nothing much would get past this particular cleric.
“That poor child.” She bent her head for a moment. “It was very difficult to comfort the congregation this morning. People always want reasons, don’t they?”
“You mean in your sermon? You must have had trouble thinking of a text.”
Her eyebrows lifted in slight surprise. “Yes, I did. You’re very perceptive.”
“Not really.” Matt smiled at her. “My brother’s a parson, so was my father.”
“Ah, I see.”
Matt wondered why he’d told her that. He decided he should try to bring the conversation back to the matter in hand.
“Did you know Amber well?”
“Quite well. She didn’t come to church, but that’s beside the point. She used to turn up at the vicarage sometimes, just to talk. I introduced her to Fabia Havard when she told me she wanted to go to art school. She was very talented,” she paused for a moment, “but she was also a very disturbed child.”
“Why do you think that was?”
“Hard to tell. Several reasons I suppose, there usually are. Losing her father at such a young age, and I don’t think she got on awfully well with her stepfather, but that’s nothing unusual. However hard he tried, Murray never seemed to be able to get it quite right, and Lord knows he tried hard enough, poor man.” She sighed. “Amber was – it’s hard to find the words – call it extremely attractive, though that’s rather an inadequate phrase where she was concerned. In a way, the very fact she was so attractive to men made her life more difficult.”
“How do you mean?”
“We-ell,” she said, as if she wasn’t quite sure how much she wanted to say. The last thing Matt wanted was for her to stop now. He sat forward, clasping his hands together. “The more we can find out about the victim in a murder enquiry, personality, likes, dislikes, the better it is, so anything you can tell us about Amber will be helpful.”
“It was definitely murder, then?”
“I’m afraid so.” He waited, hoping she’d open up, and at last she did.
“Amber was – how to describe it? I wouldn’t call it over-sexed, that’s an old-fashioned, debased term, but to most men it seemed she was irresistible, she was colourful, voluptuous. And she used it. What woman wouldn’t? It attracted attention, and that attention could always be taken for love. Unfortunately, I don’t think she could actually distinguish between lust and love and, as a consequence, she’d had rather more physical experience of sex than was good for her at her age.”
“You think these relationships she was having were more than just the usual boyfriend, girlfriend stuff?”
“Absolutely. I’m very much afraid she was using sex as a form of currency.”
Matt was taken aback: this woman was full of surprises. “Do you mean she was on the game?”
“Not officially, if that’s the right way to put it, but some of the men she’d been with had been very generous, and very useful to her, and I don’t think she was about to discourage that generosity.”
“Who, for instance?”
The silence lengthened. Crunch time, Matt thought. If he pushed too hard she might clam up altogether. He waited, hoping the quiet void would do his work for him. At last she went on, but it was only to say, “I really don’t know how much I should say. It’s difficult. I realise you need to know as much as possible, but I really don’t feel I should speculate, and some of these people are my parishioners. I do have a duty of confidentiality.”
“Would it help if I told you some of what we know already?”
“I suppose so,” but she didn’t sound too sure.
“We’re aware of the fact she had an affair with Paul Vaughan last year.” He was watching her carefully as he spoke and noticed her relax a little. “You knew about that?”
“Yes. Rather more than I wanted to in fact.” She grimaced. “Amber was inclined to go into graphic detail about her conquests. I’m no prude, but there’s a limit to what I really want to hear about other people’s sexual activities, very much a case of information overload.”
Matt suppressed a grin and decided that he rather liked Cath Temple, she was definitely not the kind of vicar that his father would have come across, why that made him like her even more was something he’d have to think about another time.
“I sympathise,” he said. “So, Amber told you rather a lot about her relationship with Paul Vaughan?”
“Yes. One of the problems was that I knew... know rather a lot about him, and for that reason I really didn’t think him a suitable friend.”
Once more she’d succeeded in surprising him. Paul Vaughan definitely wasn’t someone he’d have thought she knew well. How come? “What exactly do you mean when you say you know a lot about him?” Matt asked.
She gave him a quizzical look, smiled slightly. “Perhaps you think he’s not the sort of person a vicar would know well?”
Matt grimaced, slightly embarrassed. “Maybe. My mistake.” But he still waited for an answer, and when it came it wasn’t at all what he expected.
“He’s an ex-boyfriend of mine.” Matt got the impression she quite enjoyed the effect of this statement. “Rather a ghastly coincidence, him coming to live here. I must say I got quite a shock when he turned up in Pontygwyn, but then, I suppose it’s not that surprising.”
“What do you mean?” asked Matt.
“Well, his family come from Newport.” Matt’s eyebrows rose. “Surprise you, does it? I know, that phoney London boy accent is a load of nonsense. When I knew him he was pure South Wales, but he shed that persona quickly enough – wanted to fit in in the big city music scene I suppose, silly man.”
Matt decided the sooner he did a bit more research into Paul Vaughan the better. He’d put Dilys onto it as soon as they got back to the station.
“Anyway,” Cath went on, “when we knew each other, in the late 80s this was, I was training to be a nurse at St Thomas’s in London. My brother was doing bar work in a nightclub, impoverished student type job, and Paul was the drummer in a group that played there, that’s how I met him.”
“And why do you think he wasn’t a suitable friend for Amber?”
Cath Temple didn’t answer immediately. She bit her lip and frowned across at Matt, obviously thinking hard about how to respond. At last she spoke. “Back then, Paul was pretty hard up and it didn’t take me long to realise he wasn’t that particular about how he supplemented his income.”
Matt’s interest sharpened.
“There was nothing that serious, not then at any rate,” she said, “just a spot of benefit fraud, fiddling his tax returns, that sort of thing, but he was also to
tally unscrupulous with women. I found out early on that I wasn’t the only woman in his life and, in the end, it was me that ended the relationship.” She gave him a weary little smile. “Took some doing. I was pretty keen, foolish me. But I knew it was going nowhere and I was sick of being lied to. So, there you have it. Ironic that I should be around to help Amber pick up the pieces when he finished with her.”
Matt wondered if she’d told him all she could about her and Paul Vaughan, but decided not to push it. She’d already provided them with some very interesting background which would be well worth picking over. He could always come back to her to find out more if necessary. Now he asked, “Was Amber very upset?”
“You bet she was.”
A re-run of their interview with Paul Vaughan played through Matt’s mind. What was it he’d said? Just a bit of fun, not serious on either side, she’d just been ‘a bit miffed’ when he’d called it a day. This didn’t match up either.
“The poor child thought he really cared about her,” Cath went on. “Just as I did all those years ago. In a way I think that was the first really damaging relationship, for Amber I mean. Up until then, I got the impression her boyfriends had been in her own age group. I think he might have been the first older man she’d been with.”
“The first?” Matt asked. “There were others?”
“After Paul? Yes. But she was besotted with him, and bowled over by all the money and the trappings of the pop world. I’m sure she built the relationship up into something it could never have been. I think she knew about his long-term partner – the model, you know? Melanie Franklin? But he’d given her the impression the relationship was almost over. So, when Melanie threw a wobbly and he dropped Amber, just like that, the poor child was absolutely devastated. I can tell you,” she went on, “one of these days I’m going to tell Paul exactly what I think of him, and I’m really going to enjoy doing it. He can be such a bastard. Amber told me she tried to change his mind, and I’m afraid she hounded him, continually phoning up, and hanging round outside the house on the off chance of bumping into him. I tried to persuade her he wasn’t worth it, but for ages she wouldn’t listen.”
Murder in the Valleys Page 15
