The wardrobe had a set of three drawers down the left-hand side. The top held underwear and socks, the middle one contained folded wool scarves and in the bottom one were odds and ends: a tape measure, a small torch, a hammer, assorted hooks and nails, superglue, a couple of padded envelopes, folded carrier bags, a large pair of scissors and underneath all of these a plastic box containing seven sets of keys. Each set had a large mortice and a smaller Yale. They had tags, numbered one to six, and one labelled ‘FD’. Swift was surprised that the police hadn’t taken them. DS Spencer had been in charge of searching the cottage — he must have a sluggish brain as well as sleepy eyes.
Swift had hoped that he might find a password for Afan’s email account but from what he knew of his friend, he’d have recorded it securely online. There were no personal or financial papers and no copy of a will. Swift was sure that careful, methodical Afan would have made one, and it would reveal if there was a next of kin. He presumed that any such personal documents were in DI Weber’s possession now.
He sat on the bed and rummaged through the bookcase. He found mainly novels, local history and biographies of famous Welsh figures: Owen Glendower, Dylan Thomas, Aneurin Bevan, Henry VII and Katheryn of Berain, who he’d never heard of. He read on the blurb that she was called the mother of Wales, because of her many notable descendants. The cover photo showed a serious, pale woman wearing a Tudor ruff. The first three biographies were dog-eared, second-hand paperbacks from Holybooks Preloved. The Berain was a newly minted hardback and when he read the flyleaf, he saw Kat’s handwriting. From one Kat about another Kat! Hope you enjoy xx. She was persistent in her wooing, and the book looked unread. On the bottom shelf, there were a couple more books on learning Welsh and a pamphlet printed by Holybridge Beekeepers Club. Swift flicked through it and read the introductory paragraph.
The hum of bees is music in our gardens.
Honeybees have existed on our planet for far longer than human beings. From the very earliest human records, there is evidence that people have sought their honey. There are several primitive Stone Age cave paintings apparently showing people robbing bees’ nests. Some people say they can even see in some of the pictures that a man is carrying a smoking torch — evidence that even at this early date smoke was being used to pacify the bees.
We call ourselves beekeepers but in reality, we work with the bees and we depend on their industry and skill.
He saw a couple of notes in the margins in what he assumed was Afan’s writing. Only work with locally sourced bees. Best to have a hive tool that’s a bright colour.
It was gone eleven and he should really have been getting to bed, but he fancied a nightcap first. He’d seen an opened bottle of blackberry mead in the dresser. He poured some to taste. It was rich and fruity. He was about to sit by the stove with it when there was a knock on the door. Suki stood outside with the rain whipping at her back and her sari flapping.
‘It’s late, but do you mind if I come in for a minute?’
‘Of course.’
She hung her coat on a hook. ‘I won’t stay long. Afan was on my mind. I was twitchy and I saw that your light was on.’
‘That’s okay. Murder makes people anxious. I was just having a glass of mead. Would you like one?’
‘Please.’
He gave her a glass and pulled two chairs to the stove. They sat quietly for a few minutes, drinking. He felt the warmth of the drink and the companionship ease the tensions of the day.
‘I never liked mead before I tasted Afan’s,’ Suki said. ‘He was modest about his talents but whatever he set his mind to, he did it well.’
It was an epitaph that his friend would have appreciated, and he told her so.
Suki sat with her toes tucked behind the bar below the chair. She was wearing a tasselled cream poncho over her sari and drew it around her like a blanket. ‘I was worrying about what Bryn said.’
‘About the Merchants selling up?’
‘Mmh. Thing is, Bryn can be a bit of a troublemaker. He likes to stir things up. But he’s also quite good at sniffing out gossip. He comes from Holybridge and he knows everyone and all the family histories, going back generations. He drinks at one of the pubs and chats to all and sundry.’
‘Why don’t you ask him directly what he’s heard?’
‘I might. He’s weaselly, though. You don’t always get a straight answer from Bryn.’
‘Jasmine assured everyone that it was untrue.’
‘Hmm. But . . . well, there’s nothing to stop them selling if they want to, and all of our tenancies come up for renewal in November. There has to be three months’ notice on either side.’
Swift stretched his legs and yawned. ‘Why would they want to sell?’
‘I’ve no idea. They’ve always seemed very settled and committed to the Tir Melys project. Although . . . I have wondered recently if their enthusiasm has flagged. Partly to do with Jasmine’s health. She seems to have lost some of her energy. It’s a shame that we haven’t developed more activities for the public to access. I can see Jasmine’s point of view, though. She maintains that we don’t want to spoil the natural beauty and peace that we have here with lots of coming and going.’
They didn’t sound very settled when I heard them this morning. ‘Maybe you should talk to Jasmine and Peter on your own or raise it again at the colloquy.’
‘Yes, I might do both.’ She glanced around. ‘I haven’t been in here for a while. Nothing’s changed. Afan liked to keep it simple — far too minimalist for me. My cottage has the same layout, but I like my decorations. Afan lived a bit like one of the hermits who used to inhabit the chapel. We had a good chat about tomato varieties the last time I came over. I’d have visited more often, but Kat wouldn’t have liked it.’
‘What’s it to do with Kat?’
Suki shook her head and sipped her drink. ‘She’d been courting Afan since she arrived here. He wasn’t interested, but the problem is that unless you’re really direct with Kat, she doesn’t get the message. We all tiptoe around her because of her lameness and then there’s her woodcarving . . .’
‘It’s not very good.’
‘It’s awful and embarrassing, but she’s convinced it’s accomplished. She’s never been able to sell any, except for the odd piece here and there. Guy being Guy, and proud of never mincing his words, told her that she should find a market with blind people — which was very cruel, but only what we were all thinking. Those two can’t stand each other.’
‘I’ve noticed Guy’s sharp tongue.’
‘He’s like that with everyone, although Elinor comes in for the unkindest comments. I don’t understand how she puts up with him and I’m puzzled as to why he married her, given that she seems to irritate him so much and he clearly doesn’t regard her as his equal.’
‘Maybe that’s the reason. He needed someone to patronise and torment.’
‘And she is a bit of a victim, our Elinor. Guy likes controlling her. He monitors her and snoops on her when she’s talking to people, despite apparently regarding her conversations as trivial.’
‘Tell me more about Kat and Afan.’
‘Kat saw me leaving here the evening I came over, and she pretty much warned me off seeing Afan. I tried to tell her that I had no designs on him, and anyway I have a partner. He’s in Italy at the moment, but we’ve been together for a while. I could see that Kat was jealous and annoyed, so I stayed away. It’s a small community and I didn’t want to cause any tensions. I wouldn’t want Kat as an enemy.’
Swift could see the problem — Suki was pretty and dainty, especially in her draped sari, and her pottery was skilfully made. ‘Does your partner usually live here with you?’
‘No, he’s based in Cardiff. He’s a scuba diver, so he travels a lot. He got a major contract to work in Genoa. He’ll be back at Christmas.’
‘You must miss him.’
‘Yes, I do. But overall, it works for us. Are you married?’
‘No. Almost,
once.’ He often wondered how life might have been if Ruth hadn’t left him and they’d married. They’d probably have made a success of it, but in that alternative universe, Branna might not have existed and he couldn’t imagine life without her now. No point in tormenting himself with what ifs. He wrenched himself back to the here and now. ‘How did Kat acquire her limp?’
‘Oh goodness, she was keen to tell us all soon after she arrived here. She used to be a weightlifter and a gym trainer. She was using a squat machine, and the weight fell on her leg and broke it in three places. She had to have several operations, and in the end, they removed some bone, hence the built-up shoe. When she recovered, she came here. Her injury was awful, but she trades on it at times. I’ve noticed that her limp is more pronounced when she’s not getting enough attention. I suspect that she was a better weightlifter than woodcarver.’ She smiled wryly. ‘I’m sounding catty now, and I’ve probably shocked you, but she can be hard work.’
‘She seems very cut up about Afan.’
‘Hmm . . . well . . . she saw a rosy future. Sad, really. It was never going to happen.’
‘The French have an expression, “la douleur exquise”. It translates as “the exquisite pain”.’ Afan had told him that when he was grieving for Ruth. It had summed up his emotions exactly.
‘The French always do have the right expression for these things, somehow.’
‘Did Afan have a partner during the time he lived here?’
‘He never mentioned anyone, never brought anyone here.’ She laughed. ‘Bryn has a friend, Dilys, who visits him now and again. She’s from Swansea and she has a husband there. It’s obvious when she’s staying because there’s loud music from Bryn’s — blasts of Iron Maiden and Motorhead. Jasmine complained to him once and he told her not to be po-faced.’ She put her empty glass down. ‘What I said about Guy earlier wasn’t entirely true. He was never sarcastic towards Afan, hence Bruno’s comment at supper.’
‘Why was that?’
‘I’m not sure. Afan had this way of showing that although he was quiet and kindly, he didn’t tolerate bullshit. If Guy started being unpleasant while Afan was around, Afan would just fix his gaze on him and Guy would grind to a halt. I’m blabbing on now, like Elinor. I’d better go and let you turn in. I’m a bit of a night owl and I have to remember that most people aren’t.’
Swift said, ‘Thanks for calling in. If Kat spots you, at least you won’t get into trouble for visiting me. You don’t usually lock your doors here, but are there any places on Tir Melys that are kept locked — that you’d all have keys for?’
Suki shook her head. ‘Nowhere, no. Why do you ask?’
‘Oh — probably something and nothing. By the way, who is Giles? I heard Jasmine refer to him.’
‘Giles is the Merchants’ son. He’s in London. He lived here for about two years when they bought Tir Melys and he made it clear that he couldn’t wait to get away. He resented the move from London. It was probably unfair to uproot a teenager in that way. He and Peter don’t get on too well. Giles is a bit of a mummy’s boy. Anyway, he headed back to London as soon as he was eighteen. He rarely comes here — in fact, it must be three years since I’ve seen him, and all he did then was moan about the weather and the lack of broadband. He’s nothing like his parents.’
‘Not a country lover?’
Suki smiled. ‘Not at all. Giles is a city dweller, through and through. Sharp dresser, likes the good life. He owns a business, some baking enterprise.’ She got up and reached for her coat. He saw sadness in her eyes. ‘Thanks for the chat. It’s good to be able to talk about Afan with a friend of his who doesn’t live here. Different perspective.’
‘Any time. Night now, don’t get too wet.’
He stood at the door and watched her hurry home. Had she called in for more than a chat and a glass of mead? He’d sensed some subtext beneath her friendly approach. He suspected that she was someone who controlled herself well. He locked up and rinsed the glasses, recalling Afan’s clear gaze in meetings. He’d turned it on a couple of unfortunate colleagues who’d tried to bluff their way through badly prepared briefings. His friend had been a good example of the power of silence. Perhaps Guy Brinkworth had had reasons for resenting that power.
He considered the keys in Afan’s wardrobe. They might be important. He decided to tuck them away in a more secure place until he found what they unlocked.
He opened a window. The moon was high and full, and the rain was clearing. The sky was bright with stars and he could see Venus, casting its dazzling silver light in the heavens.
Chapter 7
Swift enjoyed a solitary breakfast the next morning, and his heart sank when Elinor appeared with Frankie just as he was finishing his coffee. She seemed startled and a little feverish. Her hair was a snarled, uncombed mess.
‘We overslept, didn’t we, Fwankie? And naughty Daddy Guy went out on his bike without waking us. The social worker’s visiting later this morning for the next phase of our adoption,’ she told Swift. ‘I do hope Guy will be back in time. He was late once before for one of these appointments when he’d gone cycling, and it doesn’t give the right impression. He sat through the interview all sweaty and a bit pongy, to be honest. I could see Terry wrinkling his nose although he didn’t say anything. He’s very open and friendly, but you can never guess what a social worker’s thinking and making notes of. Are you okay after your awful shock? Have you had enough to eat? Can I get you anything? The eggs will be fresh from the hens this morning.’
‘I’ve eaten, thanks. You get your own.’
With Frankie under one arm, she helped herself to a brimming bowl of porridge and four slices of toast piled with strips of bacon and brought it to the table. She saw Swift looking. ‘I’m an anxiety eater. I wish worry made me go off food.’
He made no comment. She’d become enormous if her stress levels didn’t diminish soon. She and Guy would be like an old-fashioned sideshow act — the Fat Lady and the Thin Man. He watched as she ate greedily. Her acerbic husband didn’t appear as eager to be a parent as she did, cycling off as a passive-aggressive ploy and a means of sabotage.
Elinor started to talk about the adoption again and seeing how nervous and anxious she was, he listened for a short while. She explained that this stage of the process was where they had to talk through why they wanted to adopt, the kinds of children — ‘infinks’ — that they would best be able to care for, and their overall strengths and suitability. She was drawing up a list of these aspects and she kept leaving it on the table, hoping that Guy would contribute. He just said it was mumbo-jumbo and why wouldn’t a married couple, well-educated with a good income and living in idyllic surroundings, be suitable? Swift wanted to ask her if she’d considered the possibility that her husband didn’t in fact want children, but that would be a painful conversation and it was the social worker’s job. He assumed that Terry must have spotted the problem.
When she drew breath, he excused himself, saying he had things to do. Elinor continued a monologue to Frankie while Swift fetched milk and bread from the kitchen to take back to the cottage. When he left the room, Elinor was staring into space while Frankie licked at her cereal bowl.
Swift drove into Holybridge late in the morning, and parked near the bookshop, Holybridge Preloved. He checked his phone and saw that the news of Afan’s death had been released to the press, with a head-and-shoulders photo of him that must have been copied from his passport. It was the clean-shaven, urbane Afan he used to work with. That meant that the police had either found next of kin or established that there was none. He skimmed a report.
Murder has taken place in a peaceful coastal setting in the beautiful Pembrokeshire countryside. The body of Afan Griffith was discovered yesterday on the coast path, three miles from Holybridge. Mr Griffith, 45, had been stabbed. He lived and worked at Tir Melys and was familiar to the community in Holybridge. Mr Griffith went missing some time after mid-morning on Monday.
DI Sofia Web
er has appealed for information from anyone who spoke to Mr Griffith recently, saw him on the coastal path or saw anyone acting suspiciously in the area.
Swift strolled around, getting a sense of the market town. It was thriving and prosperous, a popular holiday destination with the middle classes. That explained the organic grocery, wholefood and herbal remedy shop, upmarket outdoor clothing outlet and artisan bakery. There was also a market running the length of the main street, and Swift could see at a glance that there was no tat for sale.
The bookshop was double-fronted, painted a faded green and cream, with a striped canvas awning that had seen better days and a bright, busy window display. One window was full of community notices and posters for parent and baby groups, allotment holders, church meetings, craft workshops, book clubs, Holybridge historical society, an over-sixties club, a walking group, and one which caught Swift’s eye.
Welsh classes, all levels
Don’t be shy, get started or brush up on what you’ve forgotten
Ask in the bookshop for details
He also spotted a poster with the Tir Melys logo.
Harp Concert by Jasmine Merchant
24 August, 7.30 p.m., the Bivium, Tir Melys
Refreshments available
Tickets £5 from Holybridge Preloved or on the door
All proceeds go towards the stewardship of the Tir Melys community
Inside, the shop was crammed with floor to ceiling shelves of second-hand books. Near the door stood a scuffed pine table holding a thermos jug of coffee, a tray with milk and sugar and a wooden tree of mugs beside it. A narrow bench like a church pew sat next to it, below the window. A young woman wearing square black glasses, and with her hair tucked into a bandana, was unpacking a box of books and examining the spines. She greeted him when he entered. She had an engaging smile.
‘Hi there! I have to go through this box carefully. I got it as a job lot at a car boot sale and some of the books are too knackered to price up. Just browsing, or can I help?’
MURDER IN PEMBROKESHIRE an absolutely gripping crime mystery full of twists (Tyrone Swift Detective Book 8) Page 9
