The sun was mild and warm. They worked for a while in companionable silence. As he carried out the job that used to be Afan’s, wearing his hooded jacket and gloves, Swift experienced again that strange sense of tracing his footsteps. Bruno was carefully removing the last of the honey before treating the hives for the winter ahead. Swift followed his instructions and set about organising wasp traps. He filled empty glass and plastic bottles with small amounts of beer and placed them around — but not too near — the hives. When Bruno had completed the work on one hive and was taking a break, Swift decided to broach the subject of Afan’s trips to Cardiff. He explained what Gwyn Bowen and Sion Hughes had told him.
Bruno shrugged. ‘I’ve no idea. Afan used to cycle to town around three every Friday. He said he went to Welsh classes. He never mentioned Cardiff.’
‘Did he come back home on Friday nights?’
‘Haven’t a clue. I assumed he did. He was entitled to do whatever he liked. I just don’t understand why he’d need to lie about it.’
‘Did Afan get on well with Caris Murray?’
‘Yeah, they were friendly. Caris is okay, and she works hard.’
‘Some people think that Morgan Callender was her boyfriend, but she says they were more like mates. What did you make of them?’
Bruno said cannily, ‘You’re sounding like a cop now. Bryn told us at supper last night that you’re a private investigator these days. You kept that quiet.’
Damn Bryn and his nosiness. Swift held his hands up. ‘Asking questions is a habit, hard to break.’
‘I guess, but people don’t always like being quizzed. I hardly knew Morgan. He was a skinny, furtive guy. Afan used to talk to him, seemed to find him okay, but generally he was seen as unreliable. Can’t help you with what went on between him and Caris. Sometimes at that age, you don’t even understand what’s going on yourself.’ Bruno’s tone had changed, and he’d become less friendly. ‘So, do we need to watch what we say around you now?’
‘I hope not. I don’t make any secret of the fact that I want whoever murdered my friend to be caught. If I can do anything to make sure that happens, I will.’
‘Sure, okay, can’t argue with that. But bear in mind that we’re used to minding our own business here and living real quietly. We’ve already talked to the police, given statements and had fingerprints taken. That’s a big deal for people.’
Swift said sharply, ‘So is murder. Afan’s lying in cold storage while his killer enjoys the sun and air. All of your lives here are going to be affected for a long time, so you’d better get used to it.’
Bruno sounded petulant. ‘Maybe we’ll get used to it, but we don’t have to like it. Thanks for the help today, much appreciated.’
Swift could tell that he was being dismissed. He walked back to Afan’s, hung up his protective gear and found his phone. The lack of a signal was beginning to grate. He wouldn’t have minded if he’d been on holiday, but now that he was working, it was a real hindrance. He wondered if he might be better off getting a room at the Bridge Arms, especially if the rest of the community were going to react to the news of his job in the same way as Bruno had. He pictured steaming hot water, a deep bath and one of those power showerheads like a dish. But if he wasn’t staying at Tir Melys, he couldn’t observe and listen, and Sofia might cancel their deal.
He met the Merchants heading to the Land Rover as he was wheeling the bike out. Today, Jasmine’s yoga clothes were in blue and red stripes and she wore a matching scarf tied in turban fashion on her head. She resembled a tube of toothpaste and she seemed fatigued. Peter wore an old tweed jacket, patched at the elbows, and flannel trousers.
‘Where are you off to?’ Peter asked.
‘In search of a phone signal. How about you?’
Jasmine replied. ‘I have a GP appointment. Just a routine check-up, to get my meds tweaked.’ She attempted a smile. ‘Are you comfortable in the cottage, Ty, got everything you need?’
‘Yes, thank you.’
‘Keeping occupied? Do ask me if you’re at a loose end, I’ll have no trouble finding work for you.’
‘I haven’t been bored. I’ve been giving Bruno a hand.’
‘Yes, you don’t strike me as the kind of man who’d ever lack something to do. Are you staying into next week?’
‘If that’s okay. It’s good to be around the place and people Afan knew.’
‘Of course. Your work doesn’t need your attention? We hear that you’re a private investigator in London.’
‘That’s right. I run my own agency. There’s nothing that can’t wait for now.’
‘Well . . . An interesting career. You must have some fascinating stories to tell. Maybe you can regale us with some over supper.’
He couldn’t tell from her bland expression if she was being sarcastic. ‘I have worked on some intriguing cases but I tend not to use them as party pieces. In the end, they’re about people’s losses and grief.’
Peter piped up. ‘I guessed you’d be principled about it.’ There was a definite hint of sarcasm there.
Jasmine reached out and touched one of the bike’s handlebars. ‘It’s strange, seeing you with that bike, instead of Afan. We all miss him.’
‘I’m sure.’
‘He had a calm, reassuring presence that uplifted the community and he was that rarity, a good listener. I found him easy to talk to. He’s much missed, isn’t he, Peter?’
‘Oh yes,’ Peter echoed, ‘very much so.’
She gave a watery smile. ‘Are you coming to my little concert on Sunday? I wondered if I should cancel it because of Afan’s death, but then I decided to carry on and hold it in his memory. He loved listening to traditional Welsh airs, so it will be a way of honouring him. “The Ash Grove” was one of his favourites, so I’ll play that at the end. We’ve sold thirty tickets and it’s always an enjoyable evening.’
He’d better curry some favour and he appreciated her gesture to Afan. ‘Of course I’ll come, thanks.’
‘Lovely. See you then, if not before. Don’t be a stranger at supper.’
‘We’d better get going or you’ll be late for your appointment,’ Peter told her.
He watched them walk away. Jasmine had a hand to her brow, shielding her eyes from the sun. I found him easy to talk to. Had Jasmine confided in Afan about her and Peter’s financial troubles? Maybe that was what Caris had meant when she’d said she hadn’t been the only one asking him for money.
He cycled to the point near where Kat had stopped the Land Rover on Monday night, and saw an overgrown track leading to a field of lavender. He bumped the bike along the track and laid it at the base of a hedgerow of blackthorn and spindle. He sat on the warm ground and stretched his legs out. The lavender had been harvested and pruned but he could still smell its rich scent.
When he checked his phone, he saw that he’d had an email and a missed call from Amira Brodeur.
Dear Ty, of course I remember you. This is terrible news about Afan and I am so sad. Why would anyone want to kill him? Was it to do with the person he was trying to help? There was something difficult going on. I tried to call you. Here is my phone number. Ring me any time.
It was almost one o’clock, so nearly two in Lyon. Amira might be taking a lunch break. He called the number she’d given.
‘Hi, Amira. It’s Ty Swift. I got your email. Is this a good time to call?’
‘Hello, Ty. Yes, it’s okay. Let me just close my door.’ He heard footsteps and then she picked up again. ‘This is the most awful news. What happened?’
He explained the circumstances. ‘Afan was stabbed in the chest. I found him when I went for a walk on the coast path.’
‘So you didn’t get to meet with him?’
‘No. We hadn’t spoken for many years.’
‘My God, I still can’t believe this. What do the police think?’
‘It’s early in the investigation. I’m helping them as much as I can. They’re still waiting for forensics. When did y
ou last have contact with him?’
‘About eight weeks ago. We weren’t in touch regularly — perhaps a couple of times a year on the phone, and then occasional emails in between. Afan told me all about his beekeeping and making mead. It sounded wonderful and I was so pleased for him. He’d found peace and a way of living that meant a great deal to him.’
‘Yet you said in your email that there was something difficult going on.’
‘The last time we spoke, Afan said that he was helping someone who was in a very problematic situation. He said . . .’ She paused. ‘He said that it was a bit cloak-and-dagger and it had to be, because of possible consequences for the person concerned.’
‘Did he give you any indication of who this person was? Male or female? Someone at Tir Melys?’
‘I’m so sorry, no. He was being very circumspect, but he hoped that he’d helped this person to find a way out of a problem. Then we went on to talk of other things. Was that the difficulty he wanted to talk to you about?’
‘Possibly. Cloak-and-dagger doesn’t sound like Afan.’
‘It doesn’t. I was surprised. But he said that secrecy was crucial regarding this situation. He said that it was a relief just to mention it to me, but he couldn’t talk about any details.’
‘And he definitely said that it was a person, singular?’
‘Yes, I’m sure of that. Ty, Afan had no family. Who will take care of his things?’
‘There’s a solicitor in Cardiff who’s his executor. The police have been in touch with him. He had very little at his cottage here. Amira, do you know if Afan sold his apartments in Lyon and Brussels?’
‘I think he did.’
‘Afan’s will leaves his estate to charities against bullying. Did he tell you that?’
She took a breath. ‘No, but it doesn’t surprise me, because of his childhood.’
This was the first route he’d found into Afan’s past. ‘What did he confide in you?’
‘Not a great deal. One of the reasons why we didn’t stay together was because he was so closed off. He told me so little. But he did say that his parents’ marriage was very unhappy. He was an only child, and both his parents took their misery out on him and bullied him. His father was the worst, very mean and spiteful to him. When his father died, his mother sent him to a boarding school, couldn’t wait to get rid of him. She died soon after. I believe that he was often sad as a child.’
‘I’m not surprised. He never told me any of this.’
‘No. As I said, he was a clam. He formed that habit in childhood to protect himself and he could never escape it. It’s hard to share your life with a clam. The shell is too hard. When I heard what happened in Brussels, I was very worried about him, and so relieved when they agreed that he could retire on grounds of ill health.’
‘I heard that he suffered stress in his job. Was it linked to bullying?’
‘Afan loved that Brussels job and had settled in so well there. Then he had a new manager who was impossible, always pushing and criticising him and making veiled threats. In the end, Afan filed a grievance about bullying and harassment, and he was sick with the stress. It was a horrible, drawn-out affair. You could say that finally, they paid him to go away and get rid of the problem. It happens quite often, to avoid tribunals and hassle. You’ve seen how it goes.’ She sounded sad, resigned.
‘What you’ve told me joins a lot of dots about Afan and explains why he settled at a place like Tir Melys. Did he move here soon after he left Brussels?’
‘Yes, he’d been in contact with the community and moved straight there. He was content there, happy, grounded. It seemed like the last place where you’d find violence, murder. This is so hard to understand.’
‘I’m sorry, Amira.’
She sighed. ‘I realise that it was terrible for you, but I’m glad that it was you who found Afan. Someone he was fond of, not just a passer-by. You understand?’
‘I understand. Could you do something for me? Could you send me an email with all the information you’ve just given me about Afan? I’ll pass it to the police.’
‘Of course. I’ll do it this afternoon. I want to come to Afan’s funeral. When will it be?’
‘There’s no date yet. I’ll talk to the police and his solicitor and inform you.’
‘Thank you. We had some lovely evenings, didn’t we, by the Rhône? Wine, music and laughter.’
‘We did.’
‘I have to go to a meeting. I will email later. It’s good to talk to you about Afan.’
Swift stretched out on the ground, hands behind his head, and gazed at the sky. Afan had realised profits from property sales and he’d have had a hefty payoff from Interpol, given his seniority and years of service. Perhaps the money was sitting in savings accounts. He reflected on what Amira had told him. Who could Afan have been helping with cloak-and-dagger methods? It seemed to have been one person. Perhaps it had been Elinor, who was certainly in a pickle, sandwiched between the adoption service and her bullying husband. What were the trips to Cardiff about and were they linked to her situation?
His phone pinged. He sat up and saw that he’d had a text from Sofia.
Forensics back. Nothing, except one of Kat’s hairs on collar of Afan’s jacket. She said he let her wear it once when they were foraging and it started pouring. Rings true, given that he was a gent. No trace of anyone unknown in his house, just Kat, Suki and Bruno, who all admit visiting him, and of course yourself. Giles M in deep financial waters. Creditors have filed statutory demands for payments of debts. He could be bankrupt if he doesn’t negotiate payment. Could be something or nothing in terms of Afan.
He replied, giving her the bones of his conversation with Amira, and adding that the details would be in an email. He added, Could Jasmine or Peter have asked Afan for a loan? If so, they’d hardly have killed their benefactor.
He was wheeling the bike back to the road when his phone rang, caller withheld.
‘Hello, is that Mr Swift who was here the other night?’ A woman’s voice, thin and wheezy.
‘I’m Tyrone Swift. What do you mean, the other night?’
‘You were talking to my Caris at the door. I heard what you were saying.’
He recalled the face at the window. ‘Are you Caris’s mum?’
‘That’s right. Caris threw your card in the bin and I found it. I can’t stay on the phone long. Can you come and see me tonight? Caris won’t be here.’
‘Okay. What time? About seven?’
‘That’ll be all right, yes. I’ll have had my dinner. Make sure you knock loud, in case I have the telly on.’
He mounted the bike, planning to microwave some soup and take the car into Holybridge later. Suddenly, he remembered that Kat had invited him to dinner tonight, and he’d forgotten to make an excuse. He was relieved to have a reason for being absent from Tir Melys and not having to spend a solitary evening with her. He saw that it was almost five o’clock and sped back, cursing the lack of phone signal there. This was exactly the kind of situation that called for an arm’s length, apologetic text message.
* * *
Kat’s small hexagonal house was called Cartref Melys, and painted bubblegum pink with a corrugated roof. The wooden steps up to the door were lined with her woodcarvings. A huge ginger cat lay on top of the roof of her wood store, enjoying the evening sun. Swift knocked at the door and was relieved when there was no answer. He’d just stuck a note under the door when Kat popped out from a nearby polytunnel. She was perspiring, wearing denim shorts with a sleeveless vest.
‘Hi, I’m sorry to disturb you. I just wanted to say that I can’t make it for a meal tonight.’
Her bottom lip curled down. ‘Oh, that’s a disappointment. I’ve already made a strawberry trifle and I was just picking leaves and herbs for a salad. You might have said earlier.’
‘I apologise for not telling you. I’ve been busy today and I lost track of time.’
‘Busy? Really? What can you have been doing
?’ She limped closer to him and he could see the sweat on her forehead.
He resented the assumption in her question. ‘Various things.’
‘And what’s so important that you can’t come tonight?’
‘I have to attend to some work,’ he said truthfully.
‘Work? On a Friday night?’ Clearly, she didn’t believe him.
‘My kind of work isn’t nine-to-five. Things happen and I have to respond.’
She stared at him and said doggedly, ‘So, what will you be doing tonight that’s more important than eating the lovely meal I’ve prepared? Where do you have to go?’
‘I can’t go into that, it’s a confidential matter.’
She stepped right into his space. Her hands were caked with soil. He saw a hair dangling from her bottom lip. She sounded truculent. ‘Oh, like that, is it? I can see I’d better mind my own business.’ Her voice changed to a wheedling tone. ‘Well, come for dinner another night. I could really do with the company and we hit it off so well. I’d love to get to know you better. I keep missing Afan really badly and the nights are sad and empty. How about tomorrow?’
‘I don’t want to make an arrangement I might not be able to keep, that would really be bad manners. I’ve put you out enough as it is.’
She clicked her fingers. ‘Let’s go foraging early one morning. I bet you’d enjoy it. I could show you the places I went with Afan.’
‘Maybe, Kat. Let’s leave it there for now. I have to get on.’
He turned the bike and she followed him onto the path, touching his arm.
‘Are you coming to Jasmine’s concert Sunday night?’
‘Yes, I expect I’ll see you there.’
‘I can come and call for you if you like, and we can go together.’
‘That’s okay. I’ll see you in there. Have a good evening.’
He walked away quickly, before she could attempt another delaying tactic. He sensed her gaze on him until he turned off the path and was screened by trees. She was one of the creepiest women he’d ever met.
MURDER IN PEMBROKESHIRE an absolutely gripping crime mystery full of twists (Tyrone Swift Detective Book 8) Page 16
