Murder in the Valleys

by Pippa McCathie

  He began to close the door. Matt put his foot out to stop him. “I’m afraid this is rather urgent, sir.” He put up his hand to push at the door, but it was held firmly. The man wasn’t going to give in that easily.

  “Chief Inspector,” he was no longer smiling. “Please, don’t insist. Haven’t we been through enough already?”

  “I understand how distressing this must be, but it won’t take long.”

  “No. You can’t come in now.” From the tone of voice, he obviously expected them to back down. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning if you insist, but not now, Cecily–”

  “Mr Cole, this is a murder enquiry and I have reason to believe you may be able to help…”

  “–with your enquiries?” He gave a humourless bark of laughter. “Really? You can’t be serious.” There was contempt in his voice, but maybe a tinge of fear now. Matt tried to follow up this advantage.

  “I’m afraid I am. And I insist that you let us in.”

  Cole stood hesitating, glaring out at them from the gap between door and door jamb. Into the silence came a sound of muffled knocking from somewhere inside the house. Irregular but distinct. They all noticed it at the same time. Cole’s head went back slightly, he called over his shoulder, “Coming Cecily,” but his voice didn’t sound right.

  The knocking had stopped. Matt glanced at the young constable, nodded towards the door, and then pushed at it with all his strength, assisted, after a second, by Watkins. Cole staggered back but recovered himself.

  “How dare you!” he shouted, his voice shrill. He came at them but Matt sidestepped him. He was sure the noise had come from the back of the house, it had been faint, but definitely on the ground floor, he was sure of that.

  Watkins was struggling with Cole. The man was strong, but Watkins was young and built like a prop forward. For a second, Matt hesitated. Should he try to help or should he investigate the noises? Then it was all over, Cole was on the floor, his arm up behind his back, cursing them in that shrill, almost unrecognisable voice.

  “My handcuffs please, sir,” Watkins gasped.

  Matt took them from Watkins’ belt and helped him clip them on to Cole’s wrists, then made his way quickly to a door at the back of the hall, and opened it. The knocking had stopped. The curtains in the room were closed, it was very dark, but in the shaft of light from the door he could see a body lying on the floor. Feeling sick with dread, he went to kneel beside it.

  Chapter 31

  It was nine in the evening at the end of a very long day. Everyone else had gone home, but Matt sat in his office with the phone clamped to his ear.

  “I’ve told him to expect you,” Alun Richards was saying on the other end of the line.

  “Was that wise?”

  “I think so. He said his wife’s away with the kids, so tonight would be a good time. He doesn’t want them to be there when he meets you. Look, the man’s been plagued by this ever since he left the force. He feels he let himself down, but what’s more, he feels he let Fabia down as well.”

  “So why didn’t he say something at the time?” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Matt realised what a stupid thing it was to say.

  “You should be able to answer that for yourself,” Alun’s tone made it obvious he thought the same. “For a start, he was just a lowly police constable – only been in the force a couple of years.”

  “You’re right. Sorry.”

  “Anyway, he’s ready to get it off his chest, that way he can stop feeling guilty about it all and everything’s tidy. I get the impression there was no love lost between him and Sligo.”

  “I know how he feels,” Matt said.

  “Yes, well, time for you to set things straight then.”

  “You’re right. I’ll go now.”

  “Okay but, maybe you and I can take Fabia out for a celebration meal some time?”

  “I hope so,” said Matt.

  “Cheer up,” Alun told him. “She’s tough, is Fabia. She’ll pull through.”

  “You didn’t see her – okay, you’re probably right,” said Matt, but he could help dwelling on the sight of Fabia, bruised and bleeding on the stretcher as the paramedics pushed it into the ambulance. There was no knowing yet how long it would be before Fabia would be fit enough, if ever, to go out for celebratory meals.

  Later on, Matt had spoken to the doctor at the hospital and been told they weren’t sure how severe her internal injuries were. The outer bruising was obvious, and they knew she had some cracked ribs, but there were more X-rays and tests to be done. She was in ICU for now and hadn’t yet spoken. They’d know more tomorrow. The doctor had told him he’d have to be patient. Matt wasn’t good at waiting, but he had no choice. And at least now he had something useful to do, something for Fabia.

  * * *

  Matt had no difficulty finding the house. It was small and semi-detached in a row of almost identical houses, not far from Newport’s main shopping centre. As he went up the path, he noticed a child’s bike lying abandoned on the patchy lawn, with a football and one solitary scuffed trainer lying beside it. A little effort had been made on the garden, a few rose bushes that needed pruning and some clumps of daffodils on which the flowers were now wilting, but it was obviously not a priority. In the gloom of light provided by a nearby street lamp, the place looked depressing and neglected.

  He rang the bell and waited. After a moment, he could see, through the half-glazed door, the outline of a man. The door opened a couple of inches. A large, moon-like face looked out at him through the space.

  “Steve Hughes?” Matt said, questioning.

  “Yes?” The tone was not welcoming.

  “Chief Inspector Lambert. Could I have a few words?”

  The door was opened further. “Oh yea, Alun told me you’d be along. You might as well come in.”

  He was a big man, running to fat, his beer belly protruding over the top of grubby jeans, his shirt gaping to reveal his navel. In his hand he held a can of lager. He waved it towards a door on the right. “Through there. D’you want one of these?”

  “No, thanks,” Matt said, guessing that the man had had quite a few himself already. “A cup of tea would be good, if that’s possible.”

  “I’ll put the kettle on, milk and sugar?”

  “Just milk, thanks,” Matt said.

  He lumbered off down the hall and Matt went through into the room indicated.

  There was evidence here of a man alone in the house: a plate containing pizza crusts on a coffee table, a sports channel on television talking to the empty room, several used mugs and empty lager cans dotted about the place. Matt grimaced then pulled himself up. There were times when this wasn’t unlike the state of his own flat.

  Steve Hughes came into the room carrying a steaming mug. “Have a seat,” he said to Matt. As he handed him the mug, some of the tea slopped on to the carpet. He didn’t seem to notice, just reached out and pressed the mute button on the remote. The figures on the screen continued to run soundlessly around the field.

  “So, what did Alun tell you then?” he asked.

  On his way in the car, Matt had wondered how to approach this interview. He’d known it would depend, to a certain extent, on what sort of man Steve Hughes was, so he’d made no rigid plan. Now he was here, sitting opposite this man who’d let himself run to seed, who lived in a house that showed little evidence of love and care, and who gave all the signs of having given up on himself, Matt felt it was going to be even more difficult than he’d anticipated. He sat forward, elbows resting on his knees, his mug held between his hands.

  “First of all, thank you for agreeing to see me. It could be very useful.”

  Steve shrugged but said nothing in reply.

  “Alun told me you had some information you wanted to pass on to me, something you learned when you were still in the force. He told me that, at the time, you didn’t feel able to make this information public as you feared for the effect it would have on your job prospects and
your family, but when he told you about Superintendent Havard’s resignation, you decided it was time to speak out, even if it wasn’t publicly. Does that about cover it?”

  “Just about. She was good to me, the Super. I liked her, a real tidy sort she was, and they well and truly shafted her. It was a disgrace, what they did.”

  “So why haven’t you spoken out before?” Matt asked, unable to stop himself.

  Hughes rubbed a large hand over his face, dragging the skin either side of his mouth down. The action made him look even more lugubrious than before. “It’s like this, see, back then – when we were working on the Cwmberis development case – I was cannon fodder. A lowly PC with no clout whatever. I hadn’t been in the force long, but long enough to know speaking out against my superiors would screw things up for me good and proper, and probably hardly affect them. What’s more, it was made very clear I was to keep my mouth firmly shut.”

  “Made clear by whom?”

  “Bloody Vivian Sligo, that’s who.” The bitterness in the man’s voice reverberated round the room.

  “Why didn’t you go to Fabia Havard with what you knew?”

  “I tried to, but they’d sent her off on sick leave by this time. I did try to get in contact with her, but she seemed to have gone to ground.” Matt couldn’t believe he’d tried very hard, but didn’t say so. “That was when the rot totally set in, it screwed the job for me. Never really enjoyed it after that, so I got the hell out, been doing private security work ever since. Pays the bills.”

  “So, what’s made you want to speak out now?”

  The answer didn’t come immediately. Hughes got up and wandered out to the kitchen, came back a moment later with another can of lager, threw himself back down in the chair. He looked broodingly across at Matt. He opened his mouth to speak, then seemed to change his mind, and shut it again. Matt waited. At last, the man spoke.

  “It’s been on my mind, like, ever since I left, eating away, never seems to leave me alone. Guilty, I suppose I felt, and Eiluned – that’s the wife – when I told her about the Super resigning and that, she said for God’s sake speak out, do something. Got a mouth on her big enough for a male voice choir, that one, but she’s right. She says,” he gave Matt a rueful grin, “I’ve been hell to live with lately, with this on my mind and all, and it’s about time I sorted it once and for all. She’s taken the kids and gone off to her Mam, said to let her know when I’d sorted it and then she’ll consider coming back.”

  Matt raised his eyebrows, “A strong-minded woman.”

  Hughes’ face relaxed for a moment into a rueful grin. “You could say that.”

  “So, what is it exactly you have to tell me?” Matt asked, making an effort to hide the impatience.

  Hughes lumbered up out of his chair once more and went to a cupboard below a shelving unit. He opened it and took out a small flat leather folder with a zip round the edge, opened this up and took out several pieces of paper. Silently, he handed them to Matt.

  “They’re just photocopies. I took them because I wanted some kind of insurance against being dumped in it by Sligo and his pals, just in case they decided to shaft me like they did Superintendent Havard. What I suppose I should have done was handed them over to her. Stupid but, like I said, I was too worried about my job. Now it doesn’t matter quite so much.”

  The first was a report from the County Council Health and Safety Officer and it took only a quick leaf through it for Matt to realise it condemned the land at Cwmberis as toxic, contaminated with heavy metals, and outlined how much it would cost to de-contaminate it and make it safe to build on. The second was a letter from a private engineering firm disagreeing with the Health and Safety report and giving a much lower cost for de-contamination, but in the small print at the bottom, in the list of non-executive directors, was a familiar name – Neville Breverton. The third was a letter from Neville Breverton to Vivian Sligo thanking him for his help with “that little embarrassment” and telling him he would show his appreciation in more concrete terms at a later date. The last was an e-mail from Sligo to Breverton saying the Havard woman had been dealt with and they could now relax, no further worries. Matt’s eyes widened as he read, and he couldn’t stop himself grinning. None of these bits and pieces would stand up in a court of law, any good barrister would shoot them down in no time, but this was enough for him to use on Fabia’s behalf. Okay, Charlie Rees-Jones, he thought triumphantly, put this in your pipe and smoke it!

  “How the hell did you get hold of all these?” he asked in amazement.

  “I’ve got a friend who worked in Health and Safety, the two reports came from him, but I didn’t tell you that, understand?”

  “Okay.”

  “And the other two, let’s just say I managed to get copies of them before Sligo got rid of the originals.”

  “How on earth?”

  “I’d rather not say, if you don’t mind.”

  Matt decided not to probe for now. He could always try to find out at a later date. All he said now was, “Risky, wasn’t it?”

  “I had to protect my back,” Steve said defensively, and Matt couldn’t but agree with him, however much against the rules it may have been. He was so grateful to have been handed the information, he could hardly start criticising its source.

  “Can I keep these?” he asked.

  “As far as I’m concerned you can do what you bloody well like with them. I want nothing more to do with it. If you manage to do some good for Miss Havard, that’ll be fine by me, and tell her...” He paused. Matt wondered what was coming next. “Tell her I’m sorry. I should have come forward before.”

  “I’ll do that, and don’t worry,” Matt said, “I think she’ll understand.”

  * * *

  For once, Matt didn’t mind a summons from Chief Superintendent Rees-Jones. Oh boy, this he was really going to enjoy. He knocked on the door and walked in.

  “Good morning, sir.”

  “Morning, Chief Inspector.” The older man looked as if he’d not slept much. He gave Matt a stiff smile and held his hand out. “Congratulations on a job well done.” Matt wondered how much that had cost him. Okay, he thought, that’s how we’re playing it, is it? It didn’t make any difference. He was still going ahead with what he’d planned.

  “Thank you, sir,” he said, shaking the proffered hand.

  “Sit down. I’ll get some coffee in,” his boss said.

  When a young, extremely attractive WPC brought in a tray with two mugs, cafetière, milk jug and sugar bowl, accompanied by a plate of chocolate digestives, and placed it on the desk, Matt wondered if this was the norm, or maybe just on special occasions.

  Rees-Jones sat back. “Do the honours,” he said to Matt, waving a hand in the direction of the tray and smiling again. Matt almost laughed as he got up to pour the coffee. This was getting ridiculous. But then, it must mean the old man was rattled. Fine, about bloody time too.

  “So, have you managed to get him to confess to both murders?”

  “We’re getting there. At first, he was denying everything, and when we showed him the torn coat Fabia Havard found in the sack of nearly new clothes, he denied it was his. But he’s intelligent enough to know that we can prove his ownership forensically. After we pointed that out, he admitted he owned it, but said he hadn’t worn it for ages. He insisted that if we found traces of lichen from the bridge, that was because he’d walked that way before, which is right, of course, but we’re hoping the forensics team turns up a bit more than that.”

  “And what about the contents of the suitcase?”

  “It was when we started on that, that he began to open up,” Matt said. “He completely changed his tune.”

  “So, has he confessed?” the Chief Superintendent asked hopefully.

  “I don’t know if that’d be the right word – boasted more like. He’s now talking as if he was entirely justified, in both cases. His step-daughter defied him, tried to stop him returning home because she’d found ou
t he was hitting her mother. He says she lashed out and he pushed her away from him, and that was the point at which she overbalanced and went over the parapet into the river. He categorically denies hitting her or pushing her into the water. As far as he’s concerned, it was self-defence, and her death was entirely her own fault. We pointed out that the girl was small, and a man of his size and strength could hardly feel physically threatened by her, but he won’t accept that at all.” Matt bit into a digestive and discovered he was hungry. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten. Since they were on offer, maybe he’d help himself to another one in a minute.

  “As to Rhona Griffiths,” he went on, “she threatened to make public what she’d seen through her telescope unless he agreed to meet her at the church. She was besotted with him and seemed to think he’d agree to a relationship under duress. He’s adamant she had to be dealt with, that she brought it all on herself, and again, he says her fall from the organ loft was her own fault, but I think we’ll be able to establish she wouldn’t have fallen if he hadn’t had a hand in it. Why they ended up in the loft I don’t know yet, but perhaps he’ll tell us in the end.” He helped himself to another biscuit. “We now know he’s been drugging his wife to keep her quiet, otherwise I think she would have contacted us days ago. There’s no knowing how long it would have been before he decided she too had to be disposed of. I believe, from what Mrs Cole has told us, that she was about to tell Fabia Havard of her suspicions when he surprised them together. I’ve not been able to check up with Ms Havard. The doctors haven’t allowed us to speak to her yet. That’s about it, the rest you know.”

  “A nasty business.”

  “Very.”

  The chief superintendent smiled yet again. “Well, congratulations, and tell your team well done.” He rose from his chair, but Matt didn’t move.

  “There is something else, sir.”

  Rees-Jones subsided slowly back into his seat. “Oh?” he said warily. “And what’s that?”