Murder in the Valleys

by Pippa McCathie

  Her anger showed through clearly, and her strength of character. As she spoke Matt got a glimpse of what a formidable woman she could be, none of the softly, softly vicar here. His respect for her increased.

  “Did she know about your previous relationship?”

  “Good Lord no!” she sounded horrified at the thought. “Nobody does, not even Fabia and she’s my closest friend round here.”

  “It still seems strange to me,” Matt went on conversationally, “that a man like that lives tucked away in a small Welsh town. You’d have thought he’d want to be closer to the hub of things, in London for instance.”

  “Well, quite apart from his family connections, and I’ve no idea if he sees them nowadays, he’s got business interests down here, hasn’t he? At least, that’s what Amber implied. I can’t remember exactly what–” She pressed a hand up to her forehead. “She said something about him putting money into a couple of nightclubs, and that he was also planning to set up a recording studio, on the outskirts of Cardiff I think. After all, the BBC has studios in Cardiff, so why not other media companies. He was always very shrewd when it came to money, it’s probably much more economical to be based out of London, what with the way the oligarchs and their city friends have pushed up property prices in the capital, and with the internet it’s not so important to be on the spot, is it?”

  Matt glanced at Dilys. Her eyes wide, she looked slightly stunned by what they’d been told since they arrived at the vicarage. He gave her a slight smile, not her idea of a minister, that’s for sure. He turned back to the vicar. “That would explain it, we can check up on his business dealings. But I’m getting off the point. To get back to Amber Morgan. What do you think made her change her mind, about pursuing Paul Vaughan, I mean?”

  “I think it was because someone else came on the scene, it was around Christmas time, I think–” Abruptly she stopped speaking, and Matt got the distinct impression she’d pulled herself up short. Damn!

  “And who was that?” he asked quietly, mentally crossing his fingers, but it was no good.

  “I’m not sure. Amber wasn’t specific.”

  “And you didn’t guess?”

  She said nothing, just shook her head.

  “It’s very important we find out the identity of everybody she had contact with,” Matt said earnestly, “if only to eliminate them from our enquiries.”

  Matt was taken aback when she grinned at him. “Sorry,” she said, going a little pink. “It’s just that I’ve never actually heard someone use that phrase, except on police programmes on the telly of course.”

  He couldn’t help smiling, but he was determined to bring her back on course. “Are you sure you don’t know who this new man was?”

  There was a loaded little silence. “No, I’m afraid not,” she said.

  Matt sat back and glanced at Dilys again, eyebrows raised. She took the hint and said, “There’s just one more thing you may be able to help us with.” She flipped through a few pages of her notebook as if she was looking for something. “Last Saturday, do you remember helping someone who had a flat tyre?”

  Matt watched as the question registered. Normally he would have expected an answer to come quite quickly, but it didn’t. For a long moment she sat absolutely still, not taking her eyes off Dilys’s face. When she did speak, it was only to say the one word, “Yes.”

  “Who was the driver?”

  “Neville Breverton, the MP.”

  “And what time was this?”

  “Quite late I think.”

  “Could you be more specific?”

  This was like drawing teeth, Matt thought. Her whole attitude had changed, the openness had disappeared completely to be replaced by a wariness she’d not shown before. What was going on here? He wondered, just for a second, if it’d be better to be upfront with her, then dismissed the idea. Maybe she’d suspected that the new man in Amber’s life had been Neville Breverton and, since they’d been part of her congregation, she might feel she had a duty of confidentiality. Finally, she spoke.

  “It was after eleven. I’d just shoved Mungo, my cat, outside. I always put him out last thing. I’ve not got round to fixing a cat door, and he has the shed to keep him warm.”

  “And Mr Breverton’s car was where?”

  “Slap by the front gate. Yes, it was definitely after eleven, probably more like twenty to twelve now I come to think of it, because I’d been watching a film on TV that ended at half eleven. Mr Breverton seemed to be having trouble with the wheel, but when I went out he insisted he was fine. He was quite brusque, so I left him to it.”

  Matt was delighted. He’d not really expected her to tell them much more, but what she had said was extremely useful. Tomorrow he’d set up an interview with Breverton on his own and Rees-Jones could like it or lump it.

  * * *

  As they drove away from the vicarage, Dilys said, “That’s one of the strangest vicars I’ve ever come across. Who’d have thought Paul Vaughan was an ex of hers! Amazing.” Her voice was a mixture of disapproval and reluctant admiration.

  Matt smiled. “I could see you were a bit taken aback. I suppose she is a shade unusual. Did you think anything useful came out of that?”

  “Well, there are several points, really. Do you think she was jealous of Amber’s relationship with Paul?”

  Matt thought about it. “It didn’t sound like that to me.”

  “But then, you don’t–” Dilys pulled herself up short, as if she’d changed her mind about what she was going to say. Matt was curious.

  “I don’t what?” He glanced at his sergeant and noticed she’d gone rather pink.

  “It’s difficult to know how to put it,” she said. “It’s not exactly a criticism.”

  He grinned at her confusion. “Spit it out, Dilys.”

  “You sometimes don’t seem to be aware of how complicated relationships can be. Perhaps it’s that you look at them more in black and white than shades of grey. I often get the impression that other people’s messy lives take you by surprise.”

  Matt didn’t know how to respond. Was he really that unperceptive? Surely not, and yet, well maybe; Dilys knew him very well, they’d been colleagues, and friends, for a long time. She could be right.

  “I’ll have to think about that one.”

  She glanced at him, frowning. “Sorry. Hope you don’t think I’m speaking out of turn.”

  “No, not at all,” he assured her, not sure if he was telling the truth. “And what else did you think about our vicar?”

  “It seemed to me she wanted to protect the girl from Vaughan. She’s another one who’s mentioned this sexual magnetism Amber had, which could widen our field of enquiry somewhat if she really attracted men in this bee and honeypot fashion.” She pursed her lips. “You know what my Nan would have said about Amber? All red shoes and no knickers.”

  Matt laughed aloud at this sudden digression into the vernacular, and Dilys gave him a slightly embarrassed smile. “I’m sorry, that’s hardly appropriate to say about a girl who’s dead, but still, that’s what my Nan would have said.”

  “The thing is,” Dilys went on after a few minutes, “given what Amber was like, she could have been meeting anybody on the bridge. Rather widens the field, doesn’t it? Although she didn’t actually say so, I think it’s pretty certain Reverend Temple knows about the relationship between Breverton and Amber, she’s just reluctant to drop him in it, probably because he goes to her church. I wouldn’t have put him down as a church-going type, his wife yes, not him, but maybe it’s useful to him – just goes along for appearance’s sake, you know the sort of thing, all those family values politicians bang on about.” Dilys frowned and Matt waited for her to continue. “Paul Vaughan’s account of his break up with Amber seems to have left an awful lot out. They obviously viewed it from very different angles, or he was being economical with the truth, which is probably more likely.”

  “So, when we get back to the station I’d like some diggin
g done into his involvement with those nightclubs, and the studio set up, and maybe a bit of digging into his family background, see if any of them are known to us. Whatever else, if he’s got connections with the Golden Monkey crowd, we could make his life very uncomfortable for him.”

  “Indeed, we could,” Dilys sounded delighted at the prospect. “I’ll get one of the lads onto it all as soon as I can, and I’ll get onto Daniels, ginger her up about that background stuff on Neville Breverton.”

  “I really don’t know what I’ve done to deserve you, Dilys,” Matt said.

  “Nor do I, sir,” Dilys replied, making him laugh again.

  Matt’s mobile buzzed, and he wriggled around until he could extract it from his pocket. “DCI Lambert,” he said. “You have? Never mind. Get the confirmation on the blood as soon as possible, okay? Thanks for letting me know.”

  He turned to Dilys. “They’ve found the other earring. Seems it was snagged on a piece of metal reinforcement jutting out from the lower arch of the bridge. There’re traces of blood on it which they’re checking now, but it’s pretty conclusive. It must have been torn from her ear as she fell.”

  “I suppose it does confirm she fell from the bridge.”

  “Yes, but it doesn’t really help us much otherwise.”

  Five minutes later, his mobile buzzed again. “Yup. Nice and clear, is it? Wonderful. We’re coming back in now and I’ll have a look at it. Good work Pryce.”

  He turned to Dilys. “That’s better news. They managed to retrieve the rubbish bags from Pontygwyn House and they’ve found the stuff from the grate in Gwen Breverton’s fireplace. Bless her forever, that lovely Mrs Pritchard had put it all into a carrier bag before throwing it in the bin, so it’s not been contaminated by any of the other rubbish. Some clear pieces of printing. It’ll be very interesting to see what it says.”

  Chapter 19

  Fabia came out of the post office and prepared to cross the road on her way to the bakery. As a rule, she’d have done a little window shopping in the many antique shops that had replaced the greengrocers and ironmongers of years gone by, or she’d have had a rummage in a charity shop or two. Bargain hunting was one of her favourite pastimes, and supporting these shops had that delightful by-product, the virtuous feeling you got when you spent money in them. But not today. She was far too preoccupied. Her mind was miles away, picking over what she knew about Amber’s murder and wishing, uselessly, that she was more closely involved.

  It wasn’t until a large truck thundered past, the driver hooting frantically and gesticulating from the cab as it narrowly missed hitting her, that Fabia came to her senses. Once safely back on the pavement, she stopped to get her breath. “Stupid woman,” she muttered. If she didn’t pull herself together, she’d end up causing a major accident.

  “You okay, Miss Havard?”

  Fabia looked up and saw Craig Evans, his anxious eyes peering out from inside his biker’s helmet. Quick thinking, a stroke of genius, she wasn’t quite sure what it was, she just knew this was an opportunity to talk to him about Amber which she really couldn’t pass up. “I’m a bit shaken up actually,” she said. “Do you think you could help me into Beynon’s?”

  She made sure she leant heavily on his arm as they made their way into the warm, sweet-smelling bakery. Opposite the counter were a few chairs and tables where the Beynon twins – plump, rosy-cheeked, wearing identical overalls – served teas, coffee and light snacks. Fabia had often wondered how long the place could survive, with the pubs and coffee chains for competition, but so far it seemed as prosperous as ever. Relieved to see that none of the tables were occupied, she sat down and rummaged in her shoulder bag for some money, held it out to Craig.

  “Would you be a dear and get me a cup of tea? I think I need something to steady my nerves. And something for yourself of course. You’ve been a real good Samaritan.”

  “Well, I–” Craig sounded doubtful, probably worried his street cred would suffer if he was seen in a place like this, so Fabia gave him what she hoped was a slightly pathetic smile. She wasn’t sure how long she’d be able to keep up this act and was relieved when Craig relented, took his helmet off and placed it on a chair.

  “Rightio then.” He took the money and, rather red in the face, went to the counter.

  Her mind raced as she waited, watching him as she did so. Just a spot of gentle probing, she told herself, nothing more. They’d been close friends, Amber and Craig, maybe she’d talked to him about her worries.

  “Thank you, Craig. This is very kind of you,” she said as he returned with a loaded tray – a pot of tea, milk in a matching jug, and a can of coke. He sat down opposite, looking distinctly uncomfortable while Fabia poured and he flipped open the can and took a slurp. As she helped herself to sugar from the bowl on the table – no modern paper tubes of the stuff for the Beynon sisters – she decided she’d have to move fast.

  Without preamble, she said, “You were a friend of Amber Morgan’s, weren’t you? This must be an awful time for you.”

  “S’pose.” He didn’t meet her eye.

  “Have the police been giving you a hard time?”

  “Not so’s you’d notice. Not about that anyway.”

  “What about then?” Fabia tried not to sound too interested, but when the answer came, it wasn’t what she’d expected, although she told herself she should have.

  “Usually it’s about my bike. That dickhead – sorry – that Sergeant Pryce does go on asking where I got the money to pay for it. I told him straight, I did, my Mam’s da left me some money when he died and I bought my bike, all fair and square. You was in the police, wasn’t you?” It sounded accusing.

  “Yes, I was, a long time ago.” Best to distance herself from it since Craig obviously had no friendly feelings towards the local force.

  “If you’d still been a policewoman...” He paused, chewing at his lower lip, then said in a rush, “Would you have been one of the people trying to find out who killed Amber?”

  “Possibly.”

  Craig sat for a moment, crouched over his can of Coke which he held in both hands, elbows on the table, as he stared out through the window into the High Street. He went on staring past Fabia as he began to speak, his voice low and urgent. “I’ve got this mate, and he thinks he might know something that’s important, about Amber I mean, and he doesn’t know what to do about it. What would you tell him to do?”

  Fabia was aware of how carefully she had to tread. “It would depend very much on what it was he knew.”

  “It’s about some of the people, involved I mean.”

  “Involved in what way?”

  “People that knew Amber. At least,” he added hastily, “that’s what my mate told me.”

  He picked up the coke can, and Fabia noticed that his hand was shaking a little. Sorry as she felt for the poor boy, nothing could diminish her urge to know exactly what was bothering him. She leant forward. “Look, anything told to the police is told in confidence. I realise you don’t have much time for them, but I’m sure you want whoever is responsible for Amber’s death to be caught, don’t you?”

  His jaw set as if he was clenching his teeth. “I’d like to get my hands on them, if that’s what you mean.”

  “I’m sure. If you like I could arrange for your friend to talk to someone, just informally, and then they’d be able to tell him how important the information is and what to do about it. Do you think he’d agree?”

  “I dunno, see. It’s difficult. They’re not going to believe him instead of some bloke that’s important, got influence and all that. They already think I got something to do with it. Anything I say, they’ll think I’m lying.”

  For the first time their eyes met. Fabia didn’t think he realised how revealing this little speech had been. Seconds ticked by. Any minute, she expected him to get up and bolt for the door, but he didn’t. Instead, his eyes welled up with tears. As he rubbed the back of his hand across them, he muttered, “I just want the fucking
bastard to pay for what he done. She said he’d made promises, like, and now this. He’s got to pay.”

  “Who, Craig?”

  He stared at her, his eyes full of fear now. It was obvious he felt he’d said too much. She put out a hand to him, then changed her mind, didn’t actually touch his. She had to get across how important this was without pushing him too hard.

  “Look, Craig. Do you trust me?”

  “S’pose.” He didn’t sound too sure.

  “You can, you know. If you, or your friend of course, want to talk to me, that’s fine. But I can’t promise not to pass on what you tell me to the police. Amber has been murdered and if you know something that might help find her killer, it’s very important that you tell them. No-one has the right to take away another person’s life,” she said urgently. “It’s vital that whoever did it is caught.”

  “I know. But what if they think–”

  “Whatever you think of the police, they’re not stupid, they know what they’re doing. I know Chief Inspector Lambert who’s in charge of this case. He’s okay, believe me. Come on Craig, how about speaking to him?”

  Craig shifted on his seat and Fabia knew she was losing ground. He looked out of the window, then back over her shoulder at the two women behind the counter. A moment later, he jumped up and grabbed his helmet from the chair. “I gotta go.”

  “Hang on a minute.” Fabia rose too. “Let me give you my mobile number, please.”

  “Okay,” he took out his phone and Fabia quickly told him the number which he tapped in. “Please ring me if you change your mind. Please Craig, it’s important. You can ring me any time, day or night.”

  He stood staring at her for a second, then pushed his helmet onto his head and barged out into the High Street. Fabia slumped back in her chair and, quietly, slowly and with great imagination, swore. Her resolution to keep out of Matt’s way would have to be set aside. He had to be told about this conversation with Craig. He’d have to talk to the boy as soon as possible. Perhaps he’d let her sit in on the interview, she thought eagerly, but she soon discarded the idea. Hardly likely. But still – her heart lifted – at least now she had a legitimate reason to contact Matt. The first thing she’d do when she got home was phone him.