MURDER IN PEMBROKESHIRE an absolutely gripping crime mystery full of twists (Tyrone Swift Detective Book 8)

by GRETTA MULROONEY

  He pictured his daughter playing on a sunnier beach, running towards the waves and shrieking when they rolled over her legs. She’d be chanting, ‘Silly old sea, you can’t catch me!’

  Tears ambushed him. He blinked and drove on.

  Chapter 8

  There was a round plastic food box by the cottage door, with a note on top. Swift expected to find that mother hen Elinor had left it and would have signed Frankie’s name alongside her own, but when he unfolded the paper, he saw that he had a different benefactor.

  Thought you might like this chicken hotpot. It’s my trusty standby recipe and Afan really loved it. Just needs five mins in microwave. Enjoy! Kat xx

  He put his supplies away. The chicken hotpot wouldn’t fit in the fridge, so he’d have to eat it tonight. He opened the lid and sniffed. It smelled good, but he wondered if Afan had really liked it. He doubted that he’d have thrown it away but pictured him eating it reluctantly, possibly under Kat’s watchful, intense gaze.

  He was hungry now, so he ate the club sandwich from its box and checked the time. It was three o’clock and he’d noticed a young woman working on the communal allotment alongside Elinor. He decided to check if she was Caris Murray. When he opened the door, he saw her coming towards him. She wore jeans, green wellingtons and an old sweater that hung loosely, exposing one rounded shoulder. Her thick, bobbed hair was streaked with blue and swayed as she walked.

  ‘Hi, are you Mr Swift?’

  ‘That’s right. My name’s Ty.’

  ‘I’m Caris Murray. Elinor told me you were here. She said you found Afan. What’s happened is so awful, I still can’t believe it. You must be in bits.’

  She took off a gardening glove and they shook hands. She wore a pretty silver thumb ring, shaped like a feather. Her manner was rough and ready, but she seemed shy, catching his eye fleetingly.

  ‘That’s right, I found Afan on the coast path.’

  She had wide, chiselled cheeks and was remarkably pale and strained for someone working in the open air. Perhaps it was the shock of hearing about Afan.

  ‘He told me you were coming. He said it had been a long time — too long.’

  ‘It had,’ Ty said. ‘I was looking forward to our catch-up.’

  She rubbed the heel of a wellington along the ground, dislodging a chunk of mud. ‘Afan showed me a photo he’d found of you both. He said it was taken in France.’

  ‘He’d left the photo on the table. That’s where we met, in Lyon.’

  ‘Yeah. He said you were both at Interpol, when he was working in criminal intelligence.’

  ‘That’s right.’ It was interesting that Afan had told this young woman information that he hadn’t shared with the members of the community. He must have trusted her. ‘Did he tell you that in confidence?’

  Her eyes were dark, thick-lashed and hard to read. ‘Yes. I loved listening to him talking about it. I never expected to meet someone who’d worked at a job like that.’

  ‘Do you want to come in for a cup of tea?’

  ‘No, I don’t have time, thanks. I’m . . . I’m really sorry about Afan. I liked him a lot. What will . . . What will happen to his things?’

  ‘You mean the things in his cottage?’

  She shifted from foot to foot. He had the impression that she was taut with tension and might bolt at any minute. ‘Yeah, his possessions.’

  ‘I can’t say. Why, is there something of yours in there?’

  ‘No, no. I just wondered, like. I suppose the police will deal with all his personal stuff.’

  ‘It depends. They were asking if Afan had any family or next of kin.’

  ‘He didn’t, he had no one,’ she said quickly and then grimaced, as if she’d revealed too much.

  ‘Afan told you that?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Have the police spoken to you yet?’

  She stiffened. ‘The police? Why would they want to speak to me?’

  ‘They’ll be speaking to anyone who knew Afan, especially people with an involvement here. Afan might have appointed a solicitor as his executor.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Someone who carries out your wishes when you die, sorts out your estate. Were you close to Afan? You seem to have been, from the things he told you.’

  ‘Oh . . . well, we’d chat when we were working the crops. Sometimes I helped him with bottling the mead. He was an easy person to get on with and so interesting. Well, I’ve got stuff to finish before the rain starts again.’

  ‘I met a friend of yours this morning.’

  She’d turned to go but halted, and the little remaining colour drained from her face. ‘Yeah?’

  ‘In the bookshop. Gwyn Bowen.’

  ‘Oh, Gwyn. Right.’ She relaxed and gave a nervous laugh.

  What had she been expecting him to say? ‘She mentioned that Morgan, your boyfriend, was missing and you’ve had a difficult time.’

  She stared at her feet. She seemed to find her wellingtons fascinating. ‘Yeah, I’ve been better. Morgan and me were kind of on/off though, not exactly devoted. More like mates most of the time, really. But I’m sure Morgan’s gone to London. He talked a lot about living there. He left a note in his bedroom saying that’s what he was planning.’

  She was lying and she wasn’t much good at hiding it. ‘He went away without telling you and he hasn’t been in touch since? Doesn’t sound much of a relationship, even just for mates.’

  He’d intended to goad her, and it worked. She looked up at him quickly, but he could see fear rather than anger in her eyes.

  ‘It was what it was. You can’t hold someone back from what they want.’

  ‘Did you meet through volunteering here?’

  ‘No, we knew each other before that, we were at school together. I’ve got to go. If you want to harvest what you want for now from Afan’s garden, I’ll collect any other ripe stuff another day and process it for the kitchen.’

  She walked away quickly, and he watched her rigid shoulders. What had that been about? Caris had come for information, but he’d no idea why. She was well informed about Afan yet didn’t want to admit it, and she was deeply worried. When people were moved to share personal information, those confidences were usually a two-way street, and he was curious about what Afan might have learned from her.

  He found a wooden bowl in the dresser and picked tomatoes, raspberries and some late strawberries. The wigwams of runner beans were heavy with ripe pods. Caris had several hours’ work ahead of her when she came to harvest.

  * * *

  DI Weber was sitting in the chair with a back like a hand, rocking back and forth. She wore thick purple wool walking socks rolled down over her DMs, a red elastic band secured her coat buttons and there was a hole in the side seam of her trousers, just below the knee. He appreciated a fellow scruff, but Jasmine would be appalled.

  She said, ‘Your friend wasn’t into home comforts, was he?’

  Swift brought her a mug of tea. ‘I was taken aback when I arrived. It’s such a contrast to how he used to live when I knew him.’ He described Afan’s beautiful flat in Lyon.

  She sipped the tea. ‘That’s not a bad brew. So, why the huge life change?’

  ‘No idea. I wasn’t in contact with him during the process that brought him here.’ He recalled what Mark Gill had told him. ‘A friend of mine from the Met knew Afan slightly. He said he’d heard that Afan left Interpol after an issue about bullying. I gathered that he was off work suffering from stress.’

  ‘I see. We appreciate, don’t we, Mr Swift, that someone’s life often explains their death.’

  ‘We do and you can call me Ty. At least you haven’t called me Mr Smith, like Jasmine did.’

  The DI snorted. ‘She’s a madam, that one. Very haughty. You can call me Sofia as you’re not a suspect and we’re kind of in the same line of work. We spotted your car on the motorway by Swansea at 1.15 p.m. on Monday and the post-mortem says that Mr Griffith died between midday and 2.30 p
.m. The email to you was sent from his phone at 2.15 p.m., so I’d guess the killer wrote it just after the stabbing and before they got rid of the phone and the weapon.’

  ‘That does point to the killer being from here, because it was someone who knew that Afan was expecting me and who wanted to delay us worrying about his absence. He’d told them all that I was visiting.’

  She grimaced. ‘Ah yes, they mentioned it at the “colloquy”. But Mr Griffith did go into Holybridge regularly. He could have told someone there about your visit. Although if you’re right about a shadowy figure fetching the book to place on his body late Monday night, that suggests someone resident here. I agree with you about the reason for the email, although whoever stabbed him must have grasped that it wouldn’t be too long before his body was found. It’s late summer and that stretch of path is fairly well used.’

  Swift had placed a plate of fruit on the table. Sofia took a glowing strawberry and murmured with pleasure as she ate it. ‘Nothing like fruit that’s just been picked. I can taste the sun and rain on it. I couldn’t live in a place like this, but there are odd moments when a flight of fancy makes me half believe I could. All the Tir Melys residents say that Mr Griffith was content here. This cottage does have a peaceful, if spartan atmosphere.’

  Swift said, ‘I’m not sure that I buy into the happy community angle that they try to promote. I’ve observed a number of personality clashes already. Something was troubling Afan’s contentment. I’ve been giving some thought to the huge change in his lifestyle. He went through a difficult time when he left Interpol. That kind of trauma can make you re-evaluate your life and take a different direction. I was stabbed when I worked for Interpol and that made me rethink my career. That’s why I started my own private investigation agency.’

  Sofia cradled her broken arm, rubbing the plaster as if she could ease it through the hard casing. ‘I googled you and fair dos, I could see you’ve had some results.’

  ‘Thanks. I’ve had a few casualties as well, things that keep me awake at night.’

  She shrugged. ‘You stir shit, you get some on you. I’ve had my moments.’ She took a sharp breath, clearly in pain, and reached into a pocket of her voluminous coat. She took out painkillers and tried to pop two from the pack with her left hand. It slid to the floor and Swift picked it up. ‘Thanks. Can you get them out for me? I’m right-handed and I’m finding that my left one is a hopeless supporting act.’

  Swift put the capsules in her hand, and she swallowed them with a draught of tea.

  ‘This bloody arm gives me bloody gyp.’

  ‘It’s hard, conducting an investigation when you’re below par. I caught a parasitic infection when someone tried to drown me in the Regent’s Canal, and the job was quite a struggle for a while. Is it a good idea to be at work with a broken arm?’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘We’re down to a skeleton staff as it is, so I persuaded the doctor to say I could work. I wanted to as well, I’d rather be busy than loitering at home. But I’ll be honest with you, I’m a bad-tempered DI at the moment. I hate not being able to drive myself. I either have to listen to DS Spencer’s passion for ten-pin bowling or get cabs. I prefer the cabs.’

  Swift understood her need to be active, but a murder investigation was a tall order when you were hampered with a badly broken limb. He wondered how many murders she’d investigated — there wouldn’t be that many in this area. ‘Just don’t take your bad mood out on me.’

  She sighed. ‘I’ll try to reserve my irritation for that numpty Spence, who has been placed on this earth with the sole purpose of trying my patience. He moved out from his mam’s recently and he’s like a chick that’s fallen out of the nest.’

  ‘High time he moved out, surely? He must be in his late twenties.’ Swift had left home at eighteen and never gone back there to live.

  ‘Agreed, but he didn’t want to. His mam told him it was time to stand on his own two feet. He has abandonment issues.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘He’s curiously old-fashioned, which is occasionally endearing, but the rest of the time I want to wring the chick’s neck. Now, back to business. Your friend was stabbed in the chest with a screwdriver, which we haven’t found, probably because it went into the waves with his phone. It caused a severe internal haemorrhage with little external bleeding. He was killed just a few feet from the cairn, and then his body was dragged in there. His solicitor is in Cardiff and I’m going to speak to him in the morning. He confirmed that Mr Griffith had no next of kin but left a will and that he’s his executor.’

  DI Weber seemed very open with her information this afternoon and he decided to reciprocate. He told her what he’d learned in Holybridge and his conversation with Caris Murray.

  ‘She came to see me, and she was fishing for information about Afan.’

  ‘Maybe she’s hoping he’s left her something.’

  ‘Maybe. But there was something else — she seemed to know things about Afan that he hadn’t shared with any of the others here.’

  A glint came into Sofia’s eye and she wiggled her eyebrows. ‘They might have had a relationship. He could have been consoling her after the boyfriend vanished. Older man . . . shoulder to lean on.’

  ‘They might have, although no one here has indicated that, and Suki told me he didn’t have a partner. It wouldn’t be easy to keep it under wraps in this community. Also, Caris is just eighteen, according to Bruno. I can’t imagine Afan going for a woman that much younger.’

  She glanced out of the window. ‘Oh, I’m not so sure. There’d be ways to keep it under the radar. You could be tending the garden and then you’d pop into the house or the shed for a while. And clearly, your friend had changed a fair bit since you knew him. Maybe Caris’s youth made him feel rejuvenated.’

  Swift could see her point, although he was dubious. ‘I suppose. Afan could have met her in Holybridge. Maybe that’s what he was doing when he was supposed to be at his Welsh class.’ He was still reflecting on Caris’s comments about her on/off boyfriend. ‘Did you find out anything about Morgan Callender?’

  She rubbed her eyes and yawned. ‘I’ve asked Spence to check it, so I might hear something this side of Christmas if I’m lucky.’ The light was grey outside, and her freckles seemed darker in the dimness. She crossed her legs, hugging her arm. ‘As you’ve gathered, DS Spencer is my cross to bear and not a lot of use to me. Willing and likeable, but not too sharp. Pendafad, my mam would say. A sheep-head. He was transferred to me a couple of months back from another team. The idea was that my experience would rub off on him. It might, given at least ten years and a miracle. Now, you strike me as an astute kind of man with brains to spare, and I gather that you’re keen on staying around here and asking your own questions. Am I right?’

  ‘You’re right.’ He could guess where this was leading. He hoped that he was reading Sofia correctly.

  ‘Good. You’ll have plenty of opportunity for hanging out, chatting with the community and picking up bits of gossip. So, Ty Swift, my proposal is that we work in harmony. I can’t say together because I have to be careful what info I pass to you, and I don’t dare use any official communication channels. Let’s say as much of a reciprocal relationship as possible. How does that sound?’

  ‘Attractive. Will DS Spencer be party to this arrangement?’

  ‘He won’t. He’s one of those limited people who have to do everything by the book. The few brains he has would be in a spin if I told him. What do you think?’

  He’d now received confirmation that Afan had had no next of kin. There was no family to represent him and make sure that his killer was caught. Afan had been in his corner more than once when he’d needed help. After a long silence, his friend had contacted him when he’d needed assistance, presumably because he’d valued Swift’s investigative skills. Swift had been too late to give that help. Or maybe not. Maybe he could give it now. ‘Okay, that sounds good to me.’

  ‘I thought it might. What’s your instinct about anyone here as the
killer? Could it be Kat, with her unfulfilled romantic yearnings?’

  He reflected on those scratchy suppers around the table. ‘It could be any of them. A community like this must have hidden tensions as well as some obvious ones. Kat isn’t liked much, Bryn Price loves to stir things and Bruno seemed tense at the prospect of the police being around. The Merchants have financial problems and the Brinkworths’ marriage isn’t the happiest I’ve seen. Suki seems straightforward, but maybe she’s too good to be true.’

  ‘Let’s assume that the killer came back in here late on the night of the murder to fetch the book and take it back to his victim’s body. That was a real gamble. Why take it?’

  ‘Regret? Trying to offer Afan comfort in death? It suggests that the motive wasn’t hatred. More that he couldn’t be allowed to live.’

  ‘Hmm. Strange.’ Sofia picked up a strawberry by its hull and handed it to Swift, then took another for herself. The way she made herself at home reminded him of Nora but, thankfully, that was the only resemblance so far. ‘I saw Elinor Brinkworth earlier, walking that dog that’s like a soft toy,’ she continued. ‘She was down in the mouth. She used the dog as a comfort blanket when I interviewed her. I’ve noticed more people using animals like that these days. What’s it all about?’

  ‘In Elinor’s case, I suppose she’s signalling her maternal wishes and making up for the affection she doesn’t get from her husband,’ he said. ‘There’s increasing use of emotional support animals recently.’

  ‘Lucky old Frankie, getting cosseted like that.’ Sofia tapped the table with her good hand. ‘This strikes me as a place where you might run from something or somebody and hide yourself. I’ve got Spence carrying out background checks on all of them. He’s not too bad with a limited, specific task and he’s handy with a computer.’