‘Ah, no.’ Bryce managed a sheepish grin. ‘I must have misunderstood. I couldn’t stay there after all. I pride myself in speaking a bit of Welsh, name like mine and all that, but clearly I’m not as competent as I’d like to think.’ Averting his face from Mariner, he let rip an explosive sneeze, before blowing his nose loudly. ‘It was pretty chilly in the climbing hut last night. After getting so wet, I think I might have caught a cold.’
‘Really?’ said Mariner, but the irony was lost on Bryce. A steady drizzle was beginning to fall again; Mariner could see it in the lamp light. ‘Where are you planning to stay tonight?’ he asked Bryce, noting that the lane he was on would take him out of the village.
‘I had considered the pub here, but it’s heaving.’ Bryce lifted his map case, running a finger over it. ‘There’s a climber’s hut up on the hillside here I think. It’s just a couple of miles away over in the next valley.’
Mariner knew that route; he’d covered part of it two days before. It wasn’t easy even in daylight, and it was rather more than a couple of miles. ‘It’s a long way to go after dark and that’ll be freezing too,’ Mariner said. ‘Don’t you think the warmth of a B&B might be better tonight?’ he suggested.
‘Well, I fear I might have left it a little late,’ Bryce said. ‘I don’t seem to be very good at planning.’
Mariner made an impulsive and somewhat risky decision. ‘Look, I’m staying at an old youth hostel just up there. I know the owner. It’s basic but there’s a hot shower and some heating, and you could at least get some food at the pub. Why don’t I see if you can come and stay there until you’re feeling better?’
‘Do you think that would be acceptable?’ Bryce jumped at it.
‘I’m sure it would,’ said Mariner. ‘You can get a good night’s sleep and tomorrow you can pick up the trail again. No sense in being a martyr, is there?’
‘Well it does sound rather attractive,’ Bryce conceded, by now visibly shaking with cold.
‘Don’t happen to play chess, do you?’ Mariner asked as they walked back along the main street.
‘Well, yes, I do.’
Even better. ‘This is a fortunate meeting anyway,’ Mariner said. ‘I think I have something that belongs to you.’
‘Oh?’
‘A locket.’
‘The locket. Heavens, I hadn’t even noticed that it was missing. If I lose that I will be in the dog house,’ he said. ‘My wife despairs of me; head in the clouds most of the time.’
That Mariner could well believe. Back at the hostel he knocked and somewhat cautiously put his head around the kitchen door, where Elena was standing stirring something savoury and delicious-smelling in a saucepan. ‘I was wondering where you’d got to,’ she said. Mariner saw her gaze shift slightly as she noticed Bryce out in the yard. ‘Ah, that’s sweet, have you found a friend?’
‘Sort of,’ Mariner said. ‘His name is Jeremy Bryce. I picked him up as a hitchhiker a few nights ago, on my way out to Tregaron, and we’ve just run into each other again. He’s walking the Black Mountain Way, doing what I am really, but he’s caught a cold and is in quite a state. How would you feel about him staying in the hostel too? It’ll just be for a night or so, until he moves on. He seems like a nice guy, but I think he’s some kind of academic and orienteering is definitely not one of his strengths. I think it would be irresponsible to send him out into the night again.’ Mariner left a dramatic pause before adding, artfully: ‘He’s a chess player.’
‘Is that meant to impress me?’
‘Well, he’s another opponent for Cerys, and if he’s a college professor, I bet he’s good,’ Mariner pressed his case home.
Elena rolled her eyes. ‘And what will he eat?’
‘That’s no problem; we’ll go down to the pub.’
She broke into a pained smile. ‘It’s all right. I’ve made enough of this to feed a couple of battalions of the Welsh Guards. I was going to freeze it but you may as well have it.’
‘You could look upon it as training for when you’ve got the B&B up and running,’ Mariner said, helpfully.
Elena made a show of grimacing. ‘Go and get yourselves cleaned up. It’ll be on the table in half an hour.’
* * *
After a brief introduction to Elena, Mariner took Bryce up into the hostel. Knowing already that the room he was sleeping in was the only one habitable, they tested the bunks and found that the one directly over Mariner’s would be the only one strong enough to take the big man’s weight.
‘I’ll go up there,’ Mariner offered. ‘You take mine.’
But Bryce wouldn’t have it. ‘No, you’ve found me a warm bed for the night.’ He tested the mattress. ‘And a soft one. This is more comfort than I’ve had in days. I can manage perfectly well up there.’
Mariner let Bryce go first in the shower. He’d unpacked some of his things and his wallet lay on the table in the dorm. Mariner couldn’t help himself. Flicking it open he saw a faded and creased snapshot of a very pretty woman with her arms draped around two smiling little girls, one blonde and one dark. Lucky Bryce.
While the two men ate, Elena had the TV on low in the kitchen and after a bit, the local news bulletin came on. Elena turned up the volume so that they could hear. News about Glenn McGinley’s progress, not surprisingly, had been displaced by the murder of Theo Ashton.
‘I don’t understand,’ said Bryce. ‘Is that what all the police activity is about? I saw several police cars when I came into the village, but I thought that perhaps it was part of the manhunt for this fugitive. I saw the headlines on a newsagent’s board a couple of days ago indicating that he might have headed into Wales.’
‘Nothing to do with him,’ Mariner said. ‘A local lad was stabbed to death in the woodland down the road yesterday.’ Mariner decided not to reveal his part in it yet.
‘Good God,’ Bryce said, grimly. ‘This is the last place you’d expect it.’
Theo Ashton was described on the news as a young man in his late twenties who had lived at the eco-project for several years. His distraught parents were filmed arriving at a hotel in nearby Llanerch. There followed some picturesque footage of the village, and a piece to camera by a reporter standing outside the pub saying that police were continuing their enquiries.
Suddenly Elena leapt up and switched off the TV, under the pretence of clearing away some of the dishes. ‘All right, sweetheart?’ she said, as Cerys appeared in the kitchen doorway, and clearly signalling a change in the conversation.
‘Hi Cerys, this is Jeremy, a friend of mine,’ Mariner said immediately, hoping that Bryce would have understood the signals and would respond appropriately. ‘Jeremy, this is Cerys.’
‘Pleased to meet you, Cerys,’ said Bryce, apparently unfazed. ‘You must be the chess player I’ve heard so much about. How about a game?’
‘Okay,’ Cerys said. She looked tired, Mariner thought, dark circles under her eyes, but perhaps this would take her mind off things. She fetched the chess board and offered up the pawns. Bryce drew white and opened the play, and it was obvious straightaway that he would be more of a challenge to her than Mariner had been. He was also far more patient, talking Cerys through her options on several of the moves, to help her think her strategy through and almost, in essence, playing against himself. ‘Are you a teacher?’ Mariner had to ask after a while, watching from the sideline.
‘Of a sort,’ Bryce said, concentrating on the move ahead. ‘Except my students are university undergraduates.’ Cerys made her move. ‘Are you sure about that?’ Bryce asked her mildly. ‘I can see quite a tasty prawn exposed there if you do.’ Cerys giggled and hastily withdrew the move, making another seconds later. ‘Much better,’ Bryce encouraged, with a conspiratorial twinkle. ‘That’s given me more to think about.’
Mariner watched as the game became ever longer and more complex.
‘Checkmate!’ said Cerys suddenly and with almost as much surprise as triumph.
‘Ah, you have me!’ exclaimed Bryce dramatic
ally, sitting back and slowly shaking his head, as if he hadn’t just engineered his own defeat.
‘Bed now, young lady,’ said Elena. ‘I’ll be up to tuck you in.’
Elena followed on soon after and now that they were alone, Mariner felt able to tell Bryce more about his involvement in the events of the previous day. Keeping his voice low, he described to Bryce what had happened. ‘Goodness, what a dreadful experience,’ Bryce said, as Mariner recounted the discovery. ‘I’m sure I wouldn’t have a clue what to do in those circumstances.’
Mariner could believe it. Commonly when meeting anyone new, he tended to be vague about his profession, citing something like ‘security consultant,’ but Bryce would find out the truth soon enough so there was no sense in his being coy. ‘Actually I’ve had a bit of practice,’ he said. ‘I’m a police officer with the West Midlands service.’
Individual reactions could often be interesting, but Bryce took it in his stride. ‘Oh, I see,’ he said. ‘What a stroke of luck that you were there and knew exactly what to do.’
‘In the practical sense, yes.’ Mariner looked up as Elena came back into the kitchen.
‘What an extraordinary life you must lead,’ Bryce said to Mariner. ‘It makes my existence seem very dull by comparison.’
‘I’m sure your job must come with its own pressures,’ Mariner said.
‘Of course, but all this makes what I do for a living seem rather pathetic. I couldn’t even hack it as a teacher; those who can, teach, those who can’t . . . You know the rest. It was the discipline I struggled with, that and the increasing numbers of children who really didn’t have any interest whatsoever in learning.’
‘But you’re in a unique position now to help young people achieve their goals,’ Elena said. ‘There must be some satisfaction in that.’
‘Well, yes, though I’m not sure that we’re preparing them for anything useful these days, nor am I convinced that many of them appreciate the education for its own sake.’
‘You sound rather disillusioned,’ Mariner said.
‘Really, do I? Oh well, perhaps I am a little, but that isn’t to say that I don’t enjoy my job. It allows me a wonderful opportunity to indulge my passion for reading, even if the fruits of my research are wasted on many of my students.’
‘Which institution are you at?’
‘Oh, not a particularly academic one; it’s one of those that started out as a polytechnic.’ He seemed preoccupied. ‘So this killing; they’re sure it couldn’t possibly be him, this man McGinley, I mean?’ he persisted, changing the subject abruptly.
‘There’s no indication that it’s his handiwork,’ Mariner said. ‘What makes you say that?’
‘Nothing, I mean . . . goodness.’ Something was bothering him.
‘What is it?’ said Mariner.
‘This morning I was coming down off the top of Troel Maen when it started to pelt down with rain. There was a derelict hut, a byre or something I suppose. Anyway, I ducked inside out of the rain to get my waterproofs on, which I did, but then my eyes adjusted to the dark and I noticed that there were signs that someone was living there; some empty cans, a bit of what looked like firewood and some firelighters, a couple of recent newspapers. And I thought I heard something.’
‘What kind of something?’
‘Well, like a movement, a rustling sound, and I had a definite feeling that I wasn’t alone. I just finished getting my jacket on and got out of there as quickly as I could. Afterwards I just thought I could have been imagining it, or that perhaps it was simply a scavenging rat or something. After all, I didn’t actually see anything; only what someone might have left behind.’
For the first time Mariner felt a vague unease about Glenn McGinley. There didn’t seem to be any question that he’d headed west, rather than south. But Mariner, more than anyone here, knew that police deduction wasn’t entirely infallible. Once again he heard himself saying, ‘Given what’s happened I think it’s worth reporting. It may be nothing, but equally it could be important. I’ll give the local police a call. I’m sure they’ll want to come and talk to you.’ Mariner took out Farthing’s card from his wallet. ‘Do you mind?’ he asked Elena.
‘No, of course not.’
‘If you just show me roughly the whereabouts of the hut, I can give them co-ordinates,’ he said to Bryce.
‘Yes, I think I can do that.’
Locating the byre was no easy task, as Bryce’s map-reading skills were limited to say the least. When Mariner put through the call a few minutes later, neither Griffith nor Farthing were available, which didn’t surprise him at this hour. Speaking to the civilian operator, Mariner simply reported what Bryce had seen, giving the map co-ordinates, leaving his Welsh colleagues to draw their own conclusions.
Bryce’s eyelids were starting to droop and soon after the call he announced that he would like to turn in. Elena stopped him as he was going out of the door. ‘Don’t know if this might be useful,’ she handed Bryce a bottle of Night Nurse. ‘Might help you sleep.’
‘Thank you, that’s very kind,’ Bryce said. ‘I must say, I’m ready for my bed now.’
‘I’ll catch you up,’ Mariner said to Bryce. ‘Let you get settled.’ And seeing Bryce across the yard, he followed Elena back into her kitchen. ‘Sorry to drop Bryce on you as well,’ he said. ‘I felt sorry for him. You’re sure you’re okay with it?’
‘Doesn’t make much difference,’ she said, lightly. ‘In fact it might be better. If my ex turns up now, I can just tell him you’re a gay couple.’
‘Thanks,’ said Mariner sardonically. ‘Well, I’d best make tracks too.’ Getting up, he put his mug in the sink. ‘Thanks for the dinner, and for taking pity on us both.’
‘We do seem to have a thing about waifs and strays round here,’ said Elena. She got up too and came to the door to lock up behind him.
‘Make sure you lock it securely.’
She made a mock salute. ‘Yes, Officer. I don’t know how I’d manage without you here.’
‘Sorry.’ Mariner’s smile acknowledged his mistake. ‘Force of habit.’
‘I forgive you,’ she said and stepped back, gently closing the door.
Bryce was in the kitchen making a hot drink when Mariner got to the hostel. ‘I’m terribly grateful to you for arranging this,’ he said, waving his arms around vaguely. ‘I don’t know what I’d have done.’
‘No problem,’ said Mariner. ‘You look done in.’
‘Yes, I think I’ll sleep quite soundly tonight. Although I can’t stop thinking about what happened to that young man. I don’t know,’ said Bryce. ‘You do what you can to keep your children safe, but sometimes you’re utterly powerless.’ There was catch in his voice as he said it.
‘You sound as if you’re speaking from experience,’ Mariner said, carefully.
‘The locket,’ Bryce said. ‘Did you open it?’
‘Yes.’
‘The lock of hair was my daughter’s,’ he said, his voice trembling with emotion. ‘It’s all we have left of her.’ He looked up at Mariner, his eyes glistening. ‘But that’s a story for another day,’ he said before Mariner could ask.
‘I’m sorry,’ Mariner said.
Getting to his feet Bryce gripped Mariner’s shoulder before shuffling past him and up the stairs, suddenly looking like a very old man.
As he ascended the stairs some time later Mariner became aware of a growing rumbling sound. Bryce was asleep and snoring so loudly through his blocked nose that the room itself seemed to vibrate; something Mariner had failed to anticipate. It was going to be like trying to sleep on the runway at Elmdon. After a moment of indecision, he gathered up his sleeping bag and retreated up to the attic room where he cleared a space, threw a mattress on the floor, bedded down on that and fell instantly into a deep sleep.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Day Seven
First thing on Monday morning Tony Knox arrived in the office to find Charlie Glover leaning against his desk, arm
s folded and his naturally cheerful face grim. He looked in need of a shave and a change of clothes and was instantly recognizable as an officer in the middle of a tough investigation. With Mariner out of the picture, this would be Glover’s first big one. ‘Kirsty Fullerton died in the early hours of this morning,’ he told Knox, without drama.
‘Jesus.’ Knox slumped down into the chair behind his desk, suddenly exhausted although the day had only just begun. ‘Do they know what it was?’
‘Mephedrone probably.’
‘Meow-meow,’ said Knox, using its street name.
‘It’s consistent with what the post-mortem tells us and one of the kids got a look at it too — said that it was a bright green pill.’
‘Did she know where Kirsty got it?’
‘No such luck,’ said Glover.
‘You think she had a bad reaction?’
‘That’s what it looks like. If we can establish who gave it to her, we could be looking at manslaughter.’
‘Any progress with that?’
‘We’re continuing to gather witness statements from all the kids. With the help of her parents I’ve been monitoring her Facebook page too, in case any of them lets anything slip. But to be honest they’re still all over the place, and most of them don’t know anything. You know what it was like there.’
‘Yeah, dark, chaotic and noisy,’ said Knox.
Glover nodded. ‘A lot of them don’t even seem to remember seeing Kirsty, let alone who she was hanging out with. We’re getting the picture that it all happened upstairs in one of the bedrooms. I’m pretty sure a couple of the girls who arrived with her know more than they’re letting on, but we can’t get them to open up, even though we’ve made it quite clear that they won’t be in any trouble if they do. I get the impression that it’s not us they’re worried about.’
‘So who or what are they afraid of?’ Knox speculated. ‘Their parents?’
‘Gut feeling?’ said Glover. ‘The parents are as anxious for answers as we are. There but for the grace of God, and all that. If this was a different group of kids in a different part of the city I’d say they were terrified of grassing up the wrong people, but this is not that kind of neighbourhood. These are nice kids from good homes.’
Buried Lies (Reissue) Page 17
