Murder in the Valleys

by Pippa McCathie

  Matt and Dilys remained determinedly silent, waiting for him to go on and reluctant to stem the flow. “I’m not saying she was directly responsible,” he added hurriedly, “no, but I can’t help thinking she had something to do with it.”

  “In what way,” Matt asked.

  “God knows, it’s just a feeling – a suspicion,” he said.

  “But that doesn’t explain the attack on Miss Griffiths herself,” Matt said.

  “I suppose not, if there was one.” He sighed, shook his head. “I’m afraid I think she did away with herself, and that would follow, wouldn’t it?”

  “Perhaps it would.” Matt was not about to tell him they were almost certain Rhona had been murdered, not until the full report came through from Pat Curtis. He thanked Cole for his time, stressed once more how important it was they speak to his wife, and asked that they should be allowed to do so later that day. Cole assured them he understood and promised to contact them as soon as his wife was sufficiently recovered. Matt thought ruefully that it would take longer than a few hours or days for that to happen.

  From the Coles’, they drove on up St Madoc’s Road to Brynymor Lodge to tackle Paul Vaughan. But this call was also unproductive. Vaughan was in Cardiff, they were told by his pugilistic henchman, and not expected back until the following day. When asked where in Cardiff, he said he didn’t know, just some business he had to do. Where was he staying? He didn’t know that either, that was the boss’s business. Annoyed and frustrated, Matt gave in, leaving a message that it was imperative he speak to Mr Vaughan as soon as possible the following morning, with a caveat that he’d search him out in Cardiff if necessary.

  “Where now, sir?” Dilys asked as they drove back down the driveway.

  Matt checked his watch. Half past twelve. There was always a chance Neville Breverton would be home for lunch.

  “Have you got that list of contributors to Labour Party funds that Chloe put together?”

  “Yes.” She tapped her briefcase. “In here.”

  “Good. Let’s go on up to Pontygwyn House and rattle his lordship’s cage.”

  “Are you sure, sir?”

  Matt glanced at her. “I thought we’d been through this, Dilys,” he said, frowning. “I know it’s unorthodox and rather throws out the rulebook, but can you think of any other way of putting him on the spot?”

  “I suppose not, oh hell, let’s go for it.”

  Matt gave her a twisted smile. “Seems you and I have changed our spots, Dilys. Fabia would laugh like a drain.”

  * * *

  “This is most inconvenient, Chief Inspector,” Gwen Breverton said over her shoulder as they followed her into the sitting room. “Given my husband’s position, I would have expected you to make an appointment. Quite apart from the fact that he has a great deal of work to do this afternoon, I really would like him to be able to finish his lunch in peace.”

  She stood before them, her hands clasped tightly in front of her, her jaw clenched.

  “It’s not always possible for us to make appointments, Mrs Breverton, things come up in an investigation that have to be addressed urgently,” said Matt firmly. “We’ll wait.”

  She flinched slightly but still stood hesitating with her arms crossed protectively. Matt waited, his face expressionless. In the end she sighed, threw her hands up in a gesture of frustration and said, “All right, but you’re going to have to make it quick. He’s a busy man and I really don’t know what more he can tell you about this business.”

  He didn’t comment, just said “Thank you,” and watched as she left the room.

  “She’s scared,” said Dilys once the sound of Gwen Breverton’s footsteps had faded away. “Definitely scared.”

  “Which is all to the good, but I wonder what exactly she’s scared of. That her husband had something to do with the deaths, that his affair with the girl is going to come out, or that his past is going to be raked up? There’s plenty of dirt there. When you think about it, it could be any or all of those. But at least it means we may be getting somewhere. The cracks are beginning to show. If his wife’s got the wind up, then she must think we can shake him. That’s fine with me.” His jaw set and he began to pace up and down the room.

  Dilys watched him. “Are you having doubts?”

  “No. I’m pretty sure of my ground. I don’t think he’s going to risk the affair becoming public property.”

  “Maybe it’s just that you’re not used to bending the rules,” Dilys suggested tentatively.

  Matt looked at her, then grinned. “You may be right. Fabia always teased me about being wedded to the rule book. She was always pushing her luck, told me I should try it more often. She used to say it was exhilarating.”

  Dilys grimaced. “I have to say, I don’t agree with that.”

  “No, but you’re a law-abiding soul, just like me.”

  They were interrupted by a rumble of voices followed by the door being pushed open. Matt had been wondering how Breverton would decide to play it. The MP’s first words answered the question. He’d decided to go on the attack.

  “What is all this, Chief Inspector? I’m a very busy man. I thought we’d gone through all that needed to be said. Does Charlie Rees-Jones know you’ve come back to pester us?”

  His wife, who had come into the room at his heels, seemed to have gained confidence from her husband. Her haughty expression was accentuated, and she glared at them over her husband’s shoulder. She’d obviously decided to follow his lead.

  “I doubt very much that he knows anything about it,” she said, raising her eyebrows disdainfully.

  Matt chose not to respond to this and simply said, “Thank you for giving us some of your valuable time, sir.”

  Breverton seemed taken aback by the bland courtesy. He frowned then glanced at his wife, his expression accusing, as if it was her fault he’d been wrong-footed, then waved a hand at them. “Sit, sit, and let’s get on with it.”

  “You might not know that there’s been another death,” Matt said as he settled himself in one of the large armchairs.

  “What?” This seemed to come as a surprise to them both.

  “Miss Rhona Griffiths was found dead in St Cybi’s church early yesterday morning. She’d fallen from the organ loft to the floor below.”

  “Good Lord!” Breverton said, and his wife’s eyes widened. “She was always a bit unstable, poor old biddy. Suicide no doubt?”

  “We don’t know for certain yet. We’re still waiting for the post-mortem report. But that isn’t what I came to talk to you about.” Matt glanced at Gwen Breverton, then turned back to her husband. “This is quite a delicate matter, sir. You may not want your wife to be–”

  “Delicate? What are you going on about?” The bullying tone was still there, but he didn’t sound quite so sure of himself. Matt waited, his expression questioning. In the end, it was Gwen who spoke first.

  “My husband and I have no secrets from each other, Chief Inspector.”

  Matt said nothing. He didn’t particularly care whether Gwen Breverton stayed or not, but he wanted it to be their decision, not his. In a way it might be better if she did stay. It might undermine her husband. The seconds ticked by. Breverton, slumped in his chair, arms crossed, stared at him over the top of his glasses. “Yes, well. Okay, Gwen, off you go.”

  “Neville!”

  “Come on, old girl. I’ll tell you all about it later.” Matt very much doubted that he would. “This is official business, my dear, probably confidential.” He raised his eyebrows at Matt.

  “You could say that, sir.”

  Gwen Breverton rose from her chair, smoothed down her skirt and, with great dignity, stalked from the room. They heard her cross the hall and mount the stairs, her footsteps tapping out her protest. When silence reigned once more, her husband turned back to Matt, his eyes steely.

  “Okay, Chief Inspector. What is this all about? And do try to remember who you’re dealing with. I will have no hesitation whatever in
putting in an official complaint to your boss – who is a very close friend of mine, I’ll have you know – if I feel the least necessity to do so.”

  “That’s understood, sir. It’s not Rhona Griffiths I wanted to ask you about. It’s Amber Morgan.” Matt decided not to beat about the bush. “We have reason to believe you had a very close relationship with her, in fact that the two of you were having an affair. Is that right, sir?”

  Neville Breverton eyes narrowed, his lips thinned, and he clenched his hands together. The clock on the mantelpiece ticked noisily in the silence. For quite some time nothing was said. Matt waited, watching every twitch of the man’s body, every line of his face.

  “Who’s been feeding you all this nonsense?” Breverton barked out at last.

  “We’ve found Amber Morgan’s diary. We also have evidence of some anonymous letters she’d been sending to various people in the neighbourhood, your wife included, in which she makes reference to a relationship.”

  Some of what Matt said obviously came as a surprise to Neville Breverton. Matt was pretty sure he wouldn’t have known about the letter to his wife. But he seemed to have decided to bluff it out. “This is ridiculous,” he blustered. “Gwen never said anything to me. I’ll ask her now.” He began to push himself out of the chair.

  “Hold on a moment, Mr Breverton. That isn’t the only evidence we have.” Thank goodness, thought Matt inwardly. “We also have a witness to one of your encounters with Miss Morgan, and we have reason to believe you weren’t entirely honest with us about the evening you had the flat tyre, after you’d taken Amber home that Saturday night.”

  “You’d better be careful what you say unless you want to be up on a disciplinary charge. How do you fancy going back on the beat, Chief Inspector?” His colour had deepened and Matt thought, as he looked steadily across at Breverton, that he resembled a particularly unpleasant bull terrier, a cornered bull terrier. But bluff as he may, there’d be no escape if Matt had anything to do with it.

  “Mr Breverton, this witness has given us a signed statement. What’s more, you told us you were outside the vicarage at 9.30 that night, the vicar told us she spoke to you no earlier than 11.30, a discrepancy of two hours. And we have the evidence of Amber Morgan’s diary. Now, shall we start again?”

  Eyes half closed, Breverton’s eyes flickered from Matt to Dilys and back again, and then he forced a smile. “Now look, Lambert, this is hardly relevant to that poor girl’s death.”

  “I don’t know how you work that out, sir. It could be highly relevant. If this had got out, to the tabloids, say, you might well have had to – what’s the phrase? Consider your position?”

  “But for Chrissake, man, I’d hardly do away with the poor girl...” He was frightened now. Matt felt a wave of satisfaction. This is for you, Fabia, he thought.

  “Look, I’ll be honest.” His tone had changed. Come on, we’re both men of the world, he seemed to be saying. Matt felt his contempt for the man was increasing as Breverton went on. “Amber and I did have a little fling, nothing serious you understand, and I treated her extremely well.”

  “You mean you gave her money?”

  “No – well, yes, but only as a gift. I was very fond of the girl, and she of me I believe.” He leant forward, gave Dilys a sideways glance, then lowered his voice as if to keep the conversation between him and Matt alone. “You have to understand, a man in my position has a great deal of stress to contend with, and my wife is, er, isn’t as, er, forthcoming... I’m sure you understand what I mean. I meant the girl no harm, no harm at all, and if the truth were known, you might say she seduced me, the little minx.” His smile didn’t quite come off.

  Matt decided to go along with him for now.

  “How long did this relationship go on?”

  “Three, maybe four months. You can imagine, now you know about this, how very upset I was to hear of poor Amber’s death. I cared about the girl, I really did.”

  “I’m sure you did, sir.” Like hell you did, you randy old pervert, he thought. Now to widen things out a bit. He turned to Dilys. “Do you have those records I asked you to bring, Sergeant?”

  Dilys bent and opened her briefcase, handed him a piece of paper, her face completely expressionless.

  “I’d like to go on to a completely different subject now, sir, if I may.” He watched Breverton carefully and caught a look of relief in the man’s eyes before he managed to mask it. “Can you tell me if this is an accurate record of contributions to local Labour Party funds in Cardiff at the time of the last by-election?”

  Breverton’s eyes widened and he sat forward. This wasn’t what he’d expected. “What’s all this about?” he growled, and snatched the piece of paper from Matt. He scanned down it. “I suppose. I don’t know off-hand. I left all that to the treasurer.”

  “We are reliably informed that it is. You see the third name down, sir?”

  “Vasic?”

  “Yes. He was the developer on the Cwmberis project, was he not?”

  In the silence that followed this question, the clock on the mantelpiece ticked away, measuring the seconds as they passed. Out in the garden, a solitary blackbird could be heard singing its heart out, and somewhere in the recesses of the house, female voices could be heard. Matt waited, feeling now that he had the upper hand.

  “I really can’t remember,” the MP said finally, and thrust the piece of paper back at Matt. He was definitely rattled. His fingers tapped rapidly on the arm of his chair, but, with the other hand, he made a dismissive gesture as if sweeping away all this nonsense. “It’s a long time since I’ve had anything to do with that kind of development.”

  “But weren’t you involved in pushing for planning permission for the project when you were on the Council?”

  “Not directly, no. Anyway, what’s this got to do with the matter in hand?” He pushed himself forward aggressively, making a point of looking at his watch. “I can only give you ten more minutes, so, get to the point?”

  This was crunch time. Matt knew he was about to take a hell of a risk. He had to trust to Neville Breverton’s fear of his relationship with Amber coming out into the open, and the hold that gave him over the man, in order to get away with what he was about to do. But he’d gone too far now, no drawing back, and who was to say it wouldn’t succeed?

  Looking Breverton in the eye, Matt held his gaze and said very slowly and quietly. “I believe planning permission for that housing project was fast-tracked by you, at the request of several of your friends, Vasic amongst them. In return they made some generous contributions to your campaign fund. All of you were members of the same Masonic lodge, weren’t you?” Breverton began a rumble of protest, but Matt ignored it and kept going. “A great deal of money was made by all concerned, in spite of the fact the land has subsequently turned out to be contaminated by heavy metals and the houses are now unsellable. Although it’s almost certain the developers, Vasic included, and some in the planning department, knew about the contamination, no-one has ever been prosecuted, nor have any of the buyers been compensated. An investigation into this fraud was blocked two years ago. The police officer heading up the investigation was forced to take sick leave and, subsequently, resigned from the force. One of the people responsible for her being sacked – that’s what it amounted to – was my boss, and your friend, Chief Superintendent Rees-Jones, but the main mover was the then Assistant Commissioner, Vivian Sligo.”

  “You must be mad to tell me all this,” Breverton hissed at him. “Don’t you realise what this could mean to your career?”

  “My sergeant is still here, sir, and she’s taking notes,” Matt said quietly.

  Breverton flashed a venomous look at Dilys who still sat quietly, notebook on her lap, pen in hand. “She’s taking a risk, isn’t she?”

  Matt glanced at Dilys who sat impassive, her face totally expressionless. “She doesn’t seem to think so. Now, sir. I know about your affair with Amber, and I’m fully aware of how much you’d hate
it to become public, but at least she had passed the age of consent. I gather that hasn’t always been the case with your conquests. I believe a few years ago you had a spot of trouble over sex with a minor? But that was sorted out by your friends as well, wasn’t it, sir?”

  “You bastard!” Matt felt a wave of satisfaction. Breverton hadn’t denied it. “I’ll get on to Charlie Rees-Jones. You’ll be out of the force before your feet can hit the ground.”

  “There’s no need for that, sir. I have the statement of the witness to one of your amorous encounters with Amber. I also have Amber’s diary, and the admission you’ve just made. I would not advise you to mention anything about the subsequent part of our discussion today to anyone at all, until I’ve decided exactly what I am going to do about all this. I can assure you, the officer in charge of that investigation at the time is going to be cleared of all blame, that is certain.”

  “Gwen said we should watch out for that Havard bitch,” he muttered, then seemed to realise how revealing this comment was.

  Matt got up. “Thank you for your time, sir. I’ll be keeping you informed of the progress of both investigations, and anything further on the Cwmberis development. We’ll see ourselves out.”

  “This isn’t the last you’ll hear from me, Lambert,” Breverton spat at him as Matt made his way to the door, “not by a long chalk.”

  Matt turned and looked at him, allowing all the contempt he felt for the man to show in his face. “I’m sure it’s not, sir. In fact, I’m counting on it.”

  Chapter 28

  Fabia was halfway through a late lunch when she heard a motorbike roar to a stop outside. She put down her knife and fork, got up and made her way quickly along the hall to the sitting room. Through the window she saw Craig hurrying up the path, removing his helmet as he did so. As she went to open the door, she wondered if Matt had followed up on what she’d told him about the conversation in the bakery.

  “Morning, Craig, I’m glad you’ve come round.” There were many questions she wanted to ask him, but all she came up with was, “I was planning to ask you to have a go at my garden.”