Murder in the Valleys

by Pippa McCathie

  * * *

  When Matt got back to his office he had a look at the pieces of paper retrieved from Gwen Breverton’s fireplace. Although what had been found would be useful, there was very little of it. A few fragments of charred notepaper with the odd word still recognisable, and a piece of green paper, probably from an envelope, on which the only fingerprint they’d found was smeared and virtually useless. They’d try checking it against those of the murdered girl, but he thought it’d probably be a pointless exercise. Matt sat at his desk studying the pieces of paper, disappointed they didn’t get him much further. But perhaps Dilys, or even Fabia, would have some useful ideas about them. It was while he was sitting frowning at the fragments that there was a knock at his door.

  “Come in,” he called, feeling ready for some distraction.

  Chloe Daniels was nothing like Dilys. Tall and slim with smooth skin the colour of dark coffee and closely curled hair pulled into a clip at the nape of her neck, her eyes were bright with enthusiasm as she strode into the room. She was obviously full of news.

  “I’ve got something really interesting here, sir, but it’s not exactly through official channels, it’s from my brother Gareth. He’s a journalist on the Newport Evening News. I took notes, but if you’d rather talk to him direct, I can get him to come in. It does seem quite important and he–”

  “Sit down.” Matt smiled at her. “And slow down. Tell me what you’ve got, and I’ll decide whether I need to see him.”

  “Right, sir. Well, shall I go back to the beginning?” Eyes round and questioning, she perched on the edge of her chair like an eager bird waiting for titbits.

  “Probably best to do so, I think. Off you go.”

  “Last Tuesday, Gareth went in to work early. He says it’s quiet then and he wanted to catch up on some odds and ends. Anyway, the first in always listens to the answerphone messages in case something important has come in overnight, so he did – listen to them, I mean. He said there wasn’t anything much, not until the last message. You see, the reason why he told me about it was because I’d told him I was helping you with the Amber Morgan case.” Matt could see warmth rising in her dark skin as she bit her lip. “I hope that was all right, sir?”

  “We’ll let it go this time,” Matt said, wishing she’d get to the point, “but don’t make a habit of talking about cases you’re working on.”

  “Oh no, I wouldn’t do that.”

  “Go on, then.”

  She wriggled on her seat then clasped her hands tight in her lap. “He said the message was rather garbled, but the caller said her name was Amber Morgan.” Matt sat upright in his chair. She certainly had his full attention now. “And from her tone of voice, Gareth said it sounded as if she was very agitated, like she was really angry or maybe frightened. He noted it all down, she kept stopping and starting, sort of as if she was looking over her shoulder, as if she thought she’d be interrupted any minute, you know? And once he’d been through the transcript, he thought he’d better tell the news editor, that’s his immediate boss. He – his boss I mean – was very interested, and he listened to the message and read Gareth’s transcript, then said to leave it with him and he’d show it to the editor. Later in the morning, the editor came and thanked Gareth, but he told him he’d best keep the information to himself as it was a delicate matter that would need careful handling, and that was the last Gareth heard about it.”

  Matt frowned. It was obvious from Chloe’s expression this wasn’t the end of the story. He wondered what was coming next.

  “Gareth says he saw the two of them, his boss and the editor, having this regular barney – it’s one of those open-plan offices, but the senior staff are partitioned off with sort of glass walls from halfway up. When the news editor finally came out, he was looking really angry and Gareth tackled him, asked him what was going to be done about the message and all that, but he was told to shut up and leave the whole thing alone, it wasn’t his problem any more. The thing is, he doesn’t give up that easily, my brother,” she said with a grin of pride and satisfaction. “He invited one of the older journalists who’s been with the press much longer to have lunch, and he pumped him for information, and he says what he found out was pretty interesting.”

  “Okay Chloe, but what did the message say? And what did your brother find out?”

  “It’d probably be best if you spoke to him yourself. Would you like me to ask him to come in?”

  “No. We’ll go to him. Is he still at work?” Matt asked as he got up from his chair.

  Chloe glanced at her watch. “He might well be in the pub by now. I could text him to check. We could–” She paused, uncertain.

  Matt smiled at her. “Come on then. I could do with a pint. Let’s go and search out this brother of yours and he can tell me all about it.”

  Chloe was tapping away at her mobile as they left the room.

  Chapter 20

  Fabia slammed her front door behind her, went straight to the kitchen, and rummaged around on the table for her mobile. After a frustrating minute, she finally found it. Relieved, she dialled the number. It rang several times before a mechanical voice told her it was the voicemail of Matt Lambert and politely requested that she leave a message after the tone. She told it to piss off and dialled the station in Newport instead. Having negotiated the switchboard, she waited impatiently while Matt’s extension rung and rung. At last it was answered, but it wasn’t Matt’s voice she heard.

  “Chief Inspector Lambert’s office.”

  “Could I speak to him please?”

  “I’m sorry, he’s not in the office at the moment. Can I help?”

  “It’s Fabia Havard here. It’s very important I speak to DCI Lambert as soon as possible. Do you know where I can contact him?”

  There was an infinitesimal pause on the other end of the line, then the voice, cooler now, replied, “I’m afraid he’s not available at the moment. Can I take a message?”

  Fabia was in two minds as to how to approach this. If whoever it was had recognised who she was, he might just be blocking her because he disapproved of what he saw as her interference. But antagonising Matt’s staff would be counter-productive. Better to try the friendly approach.

  “I really do need to talk to him. It’s about the Amber Morgan case. I have some information for him. Would you be kind enough to ask him to ring me as soon as possible?”

  “Of course, ma’am.” The voice was still cool. “I’ll do my best to pass the message on when he gets back.”

  “Thank you,” Fabia said through gritted teeth. “As soon as possible if you can.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “I realise how... well, thank you anyway.”

  Fabia replaced the receiver, feeling thwarted and frustrated. It was so galling! She felt that as soon as she mentioned her name all the hidden – and not so hidden – agendas attached to her past reared their ugly heads. She wouldn’t mind betting her phone call would not come as a high priority with the unknown officer she’d spoken to. He might even forget it altogether. No, that was ridiculous, stupid to be so over-sensitive. But he might not even be conscious of making a decision based on rumour and half-truth. Once people made up their minds about you, created a picture of you in their mind that satisfied their own prejudices, they were inclined to react subconsciously and it was very difficult to escape the straitjacket.

  What to do next? She couldn’t just sit around twiddling her thumbs. That half hour with Craig must be followed up before fear and doubt took over and he clammed up completely. But, once again, she had to resign herself, there was nothing she could do. She decided work was the only answer, it would distract her, and she’d neglected it long enough. But after half an hour she gave up. Today’s Fabia could immerse herself in precise, brightly coloured little drawings for a children’s book on the facts of life, but yesterday’s Fabia had taken over. Yesterday’s Fabia wanted to be totally absorbed in the mind-stretching detail of a murder enquiry. She stood g
azing out of the window as the dusk crept up over the hills, her mind working away methodically, sifting through all the information she had so far.

  * * *

  Rhona could feel an almost uncontrollable excitement bubbling up inside her. She stood in the middle of her attic room and a little giggle burst from her lips. With fingers to her mouth, she blocked it, and glanced fearfully at the photo of her father. His voice sounded cold and stern in her mind.

  “Vanity, my girl, is a sin. Take that paint off your face immediately.”

  “But dearest Da,” she said, walking quickly over to the photo and putting up a tentative finger to touch the unforgiving face in its cold pewter frame. “I have an important appointment, and I must make an effort, make the best of myself. You always said I should set an example, show others how things should be done.” A slight cloud passed across her face, this hadn’t really been the kind of example he’d been thinking about, but her doubts only lasted a second; she pushed them out of her mind. “I’m so excited. This is going to change my whole life, Da, honest. I’ll not be alone any more. You know, dearest, I’ve been so lonely since you passed on, and now I’m going to have my very own – no, no, best not say it.”

  Standing in the corner of the room, opposite the photo of her father, was an ancient, rather spotted cheval mirror. Rhona made her way across and stood before it, pressed her lips together, smoothing the bright pink lipstick she was wearing. Next, she licked a finger and ran it along each eyebrow, smoothing the thin lines. She smiled at herself in the mirror, ran her hands down the flower-printed dress she wore, turned first to one side then the other.

  “That will do nicely, don’t you think? Just my jacket and scarf and I must be off.” The giggle rose again. This time she didn’t stop it as she turned and made her way down the attic stairs, still giggling quietly to herself.

  * * *

  Fabia was so preoccupied with her thoughts that when the phone finally rang she jumped out of her skin. She grabbed at the receiver, nearly dropped it, then clamped it to her ear, feeling relief flow over her as she heard Matt’s voice.

  “Fabia?” He sounded brusque, but what did that matter? “I was told you wanted to speak to me.”

  “I do, indeed,” she said.

  “I’d been planning to drop in tomorrow,” Matt said, and she felt inordinately pleased at this, “but it sounded urgent. What can I do for you?”

  “I’ve got some info for you, to do with Amber’s murder.”

  “Have you now? Look, I hate talking on the phone.” He no longer sounded brusque. “Are you going to be at home for a bit? Could I come round now?”

  “Of course.”

  “I’ll be there in half an hour or so,” Matt said.

  When she opened the door to him Fabia was pleased to see he was on his own. It would make things easier. The awkwardness between them was bad enough without having his neat little sergeant sitting on the sidelines taking it all in. Early though it was, she’d opened a bottle of wine and offered him a glass. He accepted it and followed her through to the sitting room.

  “So, what’s all this about?” he asked as he subsided into a chair. She could see he was exhausted, but made no comment. He didn’t need to have it rubbed in. Instead, she told him what Craig had said.

  “He definitely said ‘he’ should be made to pay for what he’d done, and he said he, Craig that is, would like to tackle whoever it is himself, to avenge Amber, I suppose. He implied whoever it is is important, influential, which made me think of Neville, or maybe Vaughan, and that the police would hardly listen to Craig rather than a person like that. I tried to convince him otherwise, but I don’t think I succeeded. The trouble is, there’s enough truth in what he said to make my denials sound a bit hollow.”

  Matt grimaced but made no comment.

  “He said something about this person making promises to Amber ‘and now this’,” Fabia went on, “referring, I suppose, to the murder. I tried to persuade him to talk to you, even offered to be there, if you allowed it, of course,” she’d better make that clear, “and gave him my mobile number, told him to contact me any time just to reinforce how important I thought the information was. I’m pretty sure he knows more than he told me. But there it is, that’s all I managed to get out of him.”

  Matt sat staring into space and didn’t say anything in response. Once more Fabia filled the void. “I felt truly sorry for the poor boy. I’ve known him a long time, he cuts my lawn occasionally and does odd jobs, so that’s probably why he talked to me. Trouble is, he’s no friend of the police, probably with good reason, he’s certainly no angel. I think he feels he’ll end up in trouble if he talks to you, maybe with whoever he’d be dropping in it, but I think he’s also got it fixed in his mind that if he takes information to you lot he’ll end up accused of the murder himself.”

  “Why on earth?”

  “Think about it, Matt. There’s no love lost between him and Sergeant Pryce, for one.”

  Matt clicked his tongue in irritation. “Okay, I’ll get one of the WPCs onto it, he might respond better to a woman.”

  “Or I could talk to him,” Fabia said tentatively. Matt frowned across at her and she felt annoyance rising inside. “I do remember the rules, Matt.”

  “I don’t doubt it.” He relented slightly. “And it’s not that I mind you talking to him, it’s just that if you did get some valuable info out of this kid, it’s no good to us if he won’t make it official, is it?”

  “I suppose not,” Fabia admitted reluctantly.

  “Leave it with me. I’ll think about it. We seem to be getting bits and pieces coming in from all directions at the moment.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He hesitated for a moment, then said, “One of my WPCs has a brother who works at the Newport Evening News. He’s come up with some information that could be very valuable.” To Fabia’s delight, he told her all about the message left by Amber on the answerphone, and everything else Chloe Daniels and her brother had told him.

  “So, this other reporter, the one he had lunch with, told Gareth the editor of the Evening News is a close friend of Neville Breverton?”

  “That’s it. They go way back. And Chief Superintendent Rees-Jones was, probably still is, also a friend.”

  “I knew that already.”

  “So why didn’t you tell me?”

  “You didn’t ask,” she said, challenging him. He didn’t take up the challenge.

  “It’s all very interesting, don’t you think?” he said.

  “Very,” Fabia decided to stop baiting him. “So, Gareth thinks the editor suppressed the message from Amber. He may be right if its existence hasn’t come through to you lot.”

  “Which it hasn’t.”

  “If he phoned Breverton and ran it past him – Good Lord! This could mean Neville is much more closely involved than even I thought. The shit could well and truly hit the fan if all this gets out.”

  “And I have a shrewd idea that’s what Rees-Jones is afraid of,” Matt said. “He hauled me in and warned me to tread carefully with his MP friend. Seems to think different rules apply to his pals.”

  “You mean you can actually entertain the idea of your own boss being involved?” Fabia’s smile was sardonic. One of the things she’d always teased Matt about was the difficulty he had in accepting that some of his fellow police officers could be as crooked as the criminals they pursued. That had made his apparent readiness to believe it of her even worse at the time. His reaction to this remark surprised her. Instead of giving as good as he got, he looked up from under his brows, pushed the hair back from his forehead with a weary sweep of his hand, and said, “I’m not the innocent abroad I used to be, nor do I think I’m always right.”

  “I didn’t think you did,” said Fabia, puzzled.

  “I’ve learnt a thing or two recently and, well, let’s just say I’m going to have to reassess a few things.”

  She had no idea what he was talking about but didn’
t think it would be a good idea to probe. It might put him off talking to her, and that was the last thing she wanted now he seemed to be opening up. This felt as if they’d slipped back in time, discussing a case almost as they used to all those years ago. Fabia went back to the matter in hand, praying that he wouldn’t clam up on her.

  “Of course, we’re jumping way ahead of ourselves here. Tell me again exactly what the message from Amber said.”

  Matt got up and began to pace up and down the room, his hands thrust deep in his pockets. “The most important bits were that someone she knew well, who lives in Pontygwyn, is abusing a woman. This same person has a much-respected position in the community, and if what he’s doing came out it would ruin him. She, Amber, wanted to talk to a reporter because she said it was the only way to stop this abuser. She implied it would put his advancement in his chosen career under threat. Now, I have it on good authority that one of Breverton’s current hobby horses is violence against women, which is hardly surprising given the high-profile abuse is getting at the moment; politically it’d be useful to him to be seen to be pro-active on that.”

  “That’s interesting. It’s definitely not a subject I’d associate with him.”

  “No? Well, it seems he’s on some Commons committee or other investigating police attitudes and rates of prosecution, etc. She didn’t give any names, but Gareth thought the whole scenario matched up with the position Neville Breverton holds, and she said it sounded as if Amber herself was the abused woman. What if Amber asked for too much money, or threatened to talk about their affair, and he got violent?”

  “Yes, but you don’t know for sure she was referring to him. And it doesn’t really match with what Mrs Pritchard overheard.”