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

by GRETTA MULROONEY

  Swift was trying to link events and people. ‘Did you throw away the screwdriver and Afan’s phone?’

  ‘No. I chucked them on the ground. I thought of jumping into the sea at that point, but I couldn’t do it.’

  Swift had most of the pieces now, but not all of them. He said to Jasmine, ‘You gave your husband an alibi for that time frame.’

  She shivered and clutched the collar of the dressing gown. ‘I was asleep. I usually am around that time. I had no reason to think that Peter wasn’t here. Oh, Peter, what have you done?’

  He said weakly, ‘Plenty. But I didn’t kill Caris. If I had, I’d confess.’

  Peter had nothing to lose now, no reason to lie. Swift realised who Caris’s killer must be. A sudden alarm seized him as he considered the consequences of her body being found. He didn’t want to leave the Merchants, but he had no choice.

  ‘The police will be back here very soon,’ he said. ‘I have to go. Stay here, in this room, until DS Spencer arrives.’

  He dashed to his car, hoping that he was wrong about what might take place. If he was right, he prayed he wouldn’t be too late.

  * * *

  Swift coasted the car quietly near to Cuddfan. There were no lights on in the house but as he stepped onto the path, he heard a faint yelp. Then silence again.

  He edged forward to the studio, approaching it from one side, past an overflowing rain barrel. There was a strong smell of rotting vegetation and the ground squelched beneath his boots. He saw a dim light inside. A high scream and then another pierced the air and he moved quickly to the door, taking in the grim scene at a glance.

  Guy Brinkworth had Elinor by the throat and was slamming her head against a wall. Blood streamed from her mouth onto his hands. He could just hear Guy yelling, ‘You stupid, stupid bitch! Do you realise what you’ve done! Fucking poking your nose in! Why can’t you just shut up?’ Elinor tried to twist away but Guy leaned in, pinning her back against the wall. Swift saw a shadow to one side of the door. Frankie lay dead on the floor, a drill bit sticking from his throat. His eyes were open and glassy.

  Swift tried the door handle, but it was locked. He hammered on the wood, shouting, ‘Stop! The police are on their way! Guy, stop! Open the door!’

  Guy glanced behind him for a second. His expression was feral and intent. He seemed to stare through Swift, and then turned back to attacking his wife. Swift took a few paces back and aimed a couple of kicks to the side of the door lock. The wood gave way, and he aimed another hard kick with his heel. The door burst open and Swift was inside. Guy released Elinor and she slumped forward. He spun round and faced Swift. His hair was loose, streaming around his face and he was pale, his eyes burning.

  Swift panted, ‘Stop, Guy. It’s over. Stop now.’

  ‘I’ll say when it’s over. I’ll say!’

  Guy launched himself forward. As Swift dodged, his wet foot slipped on the wooden floor and he went down, hitting his head on the side of a display cabinet. Guy was on top of him, hands around his throat, squeezing. Swift’s vision blurred and the light grew dimmer. He went deliberately limp, but Guy tightened his grip and the blood pounded in Swift’s head. He heard Elinor scream and as he passed out, he was aware of a bang. He imagined that thunder had rolled into the room.

  * * *

  Swift had never been so glad to see DS Spencer’s pudgy, beetroot complexion. He sat in Spencer’s car, rubbing his throat. A paramedic had checked him over and pronounced that his airways were bruised but not compromised.

  Spencer handed him a bottle of water and he took a few sips. He croaked, ‘Is Elinor okay?’

  ‘She’s on her way to hospital. She saved you. Hit Guy on the back of the head with a soldering block. He’s been taken away unconscious.’ He bit his lip. ‘I thought you were as dead as the dog when we got here. The boss would never have forgiven me. She likes you — I can tell.’

  ‘I like her too,’ Swift said. God, I sound like a soppy teenager, must be the oxygen deprivation. ‘Did you arrest Gwyn?’

  ‘Yeah. She’s at the station. My mam’s always said that Gwyn’s a warm-hearted girl. She’ll be dead shocked.’ He gave a huge yawn. ‘Sorry, it’s like I haven’t slept for a week.’

  ‘You won’t get much sleep for a while yet, with four suspects to process.’

  Spencer grimaced. ‘Still, the boss will be thrilled. I can’t get my head round it all. What led you to Peter Merchant?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’ This case had been like stirring a sauce that refused to come together. In Gwyn’s flat he’d hit the moment when it mysteriously thickened. ‘I reckoned that Afan might have approached Peter after Bruno told him about the Merchants’ plan. Jasmine has thyroid problems which make her tired. Bruno mentioned that she slept most afternoons, so she could well have been asleep on that Monday when Afan died. I’d gathered that Peter has much more of an emotional investment in this place than Jasmine. She’s tougher and sees it as a business, whereas he loves Tir Melys and hated the threat of losing it. He resented his son and didn’t see why he and Jasmine had to bail him out. I’d seen him doing yoga and although he seems feeble, he’d have the strength to kill and drag a man some distance. He’s the quiet, slow-burn type who could flip and that led me to think that if Afan had cornered him, he could have lashed out.’ Maybe it had been Elinor’s comment that every worm turns that had led him to Peter. His brain was tired.

  ‘Yeah, Peter’s always seemed more of a mouse than a man.’ Spencer gazed at Swift with the kind of devotion that Frankie used to bestow on Elinor. ‘What about Guy? What made you suspect that he was going to harm Elinor?’

  Swift sipped more water, holding it in his mouth and letting it ease down his throat. ‘I wasn’t sure, but once I’d spoken to Gwyn, I thought again about Elinor’s smoke and mirrors technique. She was desperate, and she’d have done anything to preserve her marriage and the chance of adopting a child. Despite her confession to Gwyn, I just couldn’t see her as a killer. I could only assume that she thought Guy had killed Afan, so she panicked and was covering up for him. That was the sole reason she’d make such a claim.’ He coughed. ‘I remembered Suki saying that Guy monitored Elinor and listened in on her conversations. He could well have overheard Afan talking to her about Caris and Gwyn, and the conversation when Caris said she was going to expose him. He could have decided to murder Caris to shut her up. He didn’t care about the adoption — he’s never really wanted a child. That was just a way of keeping Elinor busy and onside. He enjoyed needling the social worker too. It made him feel superior, which is when Guy’s in his comfort zone. I’d bet money that he’d forgotten all about the miserable girl in the playground and her annoying little tale of woe. But when he overheard the details and recalled the incident, he wouldn’t have wanted Gwyn’s story to go public. Dr Brinkworth would have lost face and status, maybe even have become a pariah. Fingers would point.’

  ‘Hurt pride,’ Spencer said.

  ‘Exactly.’ Swift tried a gentle neck roll. It hurt, but it was bearable. He did another, anticlockwise. ‘Guy must have concealed Caris’s body in the hope that she wouldn’t be found for a while. Maybe he wanted to buy time. She might have been in that cold chamber for weeks before anyone noticed a smell or stepped in there. I believe that Gwyn might have been his next victim if he’d believed there was a chance that she’d talk. Then the news broke about the Merchants wanting to sell up, and Elinor became even more distraught and as Guy would see it, emotionally incontinent. She told me that they’d been rowing and her attitude to him had become less sympathetic. They were both under enormous strain. He’s a vindictive, callous bastard. I reckoned that once he found out that Elinor had stumbled on Caris’s body, he might well feel trapped and see that as a betrayal. I worried that he’d turn his fury on her.’ His throat throbbed. He slumped back in the car seat.

  Spencer pursed his lips. ‘I never liked him. He was well up himself.’

  ‘Sometimes people are as rotten as they appear.’ />
  ‘Well this is a right old kettle of fish and no mistake,’ Spencer said, scratching his head.

  Swift splashed water from the bottle on his face and massaged his neck. That was one way of putting it.

  Chapter 21

  Swift stood in Afan’s shed, sticking labels on his friend’s last batch of mead. When he’d finished the bottles, he crated them. They were now ready for the gathering after Afan’s funeral. He stood over them for a moment. A final offering.

  In the cottage, he took a couple of painkillers. His throat had improved but his back still ached. His beard had grown, and the constant rain and wind had whipped his hair into a knotted mess. If his cousin Mary could see him now, she’d ask him if he was going to audition for Captain Kidd.

  He was going to clean and tidy the cottage before he left, but there was something he needed to do first. He drove to an address on the far side of Holybridge, near the warehouse where Caris had worked. He examined the car parked outside the rundown semi and noted the scrapes on the passenger side. He took out his Swiss Army knife and slashed the four tyres. When he rang the bell, a beefy man eating a chicken wing opened the door.

  ‘Calvin Callender?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  Swift pushed through the door, barging Callender backwards. The chicken wing flew through the air. Callender stumbled and Swift moved in fast, pinning him, face against the wall, with an armlock. The force made his back throb but Callender was hurting more.

  ‘You need to listen. If you say anything, I’ll break your arm. I might break the other one too, just to give you a matching pair. Nod.’

  Callender nodded. Swift wasn’t an aggressive man but if he was pushed far enough, he didn’t mind using the techniques he’d learned in Police College. Bullies were always cowards, which was just as well, as Callender was twice his size. He pressed on the arm just to cause some pain. Callender moaned.

  ‘I didn’t like you driving your car at me. You’ve damaged my handsome face. Who gave you my name and Morgan’s number?’

  ‘What’s it to you?’

  Another twist of the arm.

  ‘S . . . Seth did.

  ‘Seth who?’

  ‘Ouch! Howard.’

  ‘Who’s he?’

  ‘A cleaner at the cop shop.’

  ‘How did he get them?’ He forced the arm a bit higher.

  ‘Christ! Don’t! He was just earwigging. Why are you—?’

  Swift leaned in. Callender smelled awful — sweat, chicken grease and something rancid. ‘I’ve appointed myself Morgan’s guardian angel. If you go anywhere near him, if you even turn his way, I’ll send people to do you horrible damage. You’re messing with London bad boys now, Calvin. Ever heard of the Krays?’

  ‘Y . . . Yeah.’

  ‘This lot makes them seem like teddy bears at a picnic. You’ve no idea who I do business with. Nod to tell me you understand.’

  Callender nodded.

  ‘Say, “I’m way out of my league.” Nice and loud.’

  ‘I’m w . . . way out of my league.’

  ‘Good. Now go and have a shower. You stink.’

  Back in his car, he took a breath. He doubted that Afan would have approved of the violence but on this occasion, he’d surely have turned a blind eye.

  * * *

  Afan’s funeral was at the end of the second week of September, a day of blustery, intermittent showers. After the brief humanist service at the crematorium, about twenty people adjourned to Blasus. Sofia Weber wasn’t at the service, but she was in the café, resting in a chair. She was pale and gaunt. She’d drawn her hair back in a tight pleat that emphasised the hollows of her face. Swift was shocked, she must have lost a stone in weight.

  ‘I’m just making a guest appearance. Can’t stay for long, too much to do,’ she told him. She was still wearing her long coat and patterned DMs, but she’d made an effort to smarten up with black trousers and a navy shirt.

  He could see that the stuffing had been knocked out of her. ‘I’m not sure you should be here at all.’

  ‘Well . . . on the plus side, my ankle’s better, so I no longer need the stick. I suppose that’s progress. I wanted to pay my respects. Spence was at the crem, wasn’t he?’

  ‘He was there. He has a good voice. He and Bryn belted out “Bread of Heaven”. Can I get you a coffee?’

  ‘Please, nice and strong. And a biscuit. Can’t face much solid food but that would go down nicely.’

  He helped himself to a glass of mead and fetched coffee and chocolate biscuits for Sofia. On the way back to her, he made a Motown selection on the jukebox: ‘The Tracks of my Tears’, ‘Baby Love’, ‘It Takes Two’ and ‘My Girl’.

  Sofia sniffed the coffee. ‘Ta. Have you been at Tir Melys all the time?’

  ‘No. I didn’t want to stay around the community. I’d had enough of it. They needed space to absorb what had happened and I craved hot water, so I went back to London.’ He’d been relieved to get away and put the miles between himself and the blighted place.

  ‘Glad to see you’ve shaved, and your face has mended. Now you just look as if a cat scratched you. You resembled Myrddin the Wild when you came to see me in hospital. You alarmed one of the nurses.’

  ‘And he is?’

  ‘A medieval bard and prophet.’

  ‘I’ll take that as a compliment. I picked up Amira at Cardiff airport on my way back yesterday. She’s staying at the Bridge Arms. I’m heading home tonight.’

  Sofia glanced across at Amira, who’d been cornered by Kat. ‘She’s got a good face. Characterful. I’ve always envied that kind of bronze complexion. Truth is, I hate French women. They’re always sleek and comfortable in their own skins.’

  ‘You strike me as a woman who’s content in herself.’

  She wriggled her eyebrows. ‘I will be, once I’ve got a functioning arm again. It was good of Amira to come. She and Afan must have parted amicably. She deserves better than Pippi Longstocking bending her ear.’

  ‘Amira can hold her own.’ In the car, she’d said little, taking in the scenery and asking a few questions about the funeral arrangements. He saw her put a hand on Kat’s shoulder, a kind but deliberate parting gesture before she moved away to speak to Bruno. He said, ‘Caris’s funeral next.’

  ‘Next week.’

  ‘I won’t be back for that. I need to stay in London to see my daughter.’

  She smiled and said, ‘I bet you’re a fun dad.’

  His spirits lowered at the tussles over Branna that lay ahead. ‘I hope so.’

  Sofia seemed to read his mood and hesitated, as if she was about to ask something further, but instead she said, ‘I hear they’re coping at Tir Melys.’

  ‘They seem okay. Jasmine Merchant is lying low, she’s rarely seen. I believe she sent a wreath for Afan but she decided not to attend today. Licking her wounds. Bryn and Bruno are forging ahead with the purchase. Kat and Suki are staying on. With the Brinkworths gone, there’ll be an empty house. I talked to Bruno and he and Bryn have agreed to ask Morgan Callender if he’d like to move in and work there. Bruno would train him in beekeeping. I’ve advised them to put him on a sort of probation period if he accepts. He’d need to prove himself, up his game.’

  ‘Spence’s mum has been working on him. It might succeed. That lad needs a structure. But wouldn’t Morgan worry that Calvin might seek him out?’

  Swift hid behind his mead. ‘That problem seems to have resolved itself. Can I get you another coffee?’

  ‘No. I’m heading home in a min.’ She circled an accusing finger at him. ‘You should have told me about finding those sets of keys.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Hmm. The conversations you had with Elinor and Gwyn, not to mention the Merchants, were completely out of order.’

  ‘It was a gamble, but what else could I do?’

  She relented. ‘You did right. Guy might have killed Elinor if you hadn’t got to her when you did.’

  ‘Don’t forget Spenc
er. He didn’t dawdle when he finally got my text and he did well in the end, getting Elinor to open up and talk. His puppy-dog eyes paid off. She always did prefer talking to Frankie. If you push Spence enough in the right direction, he gets there.’

  ‘Most days, I’d like to push him off the bridge up the road.’ Sofia sighed. ‘I shouldn’t be so hard on him. He sent me the biggest box of chocolates I’ve ever seen.’ She leaned forward. ‘Now, I’ve been disentangling the threads that were knotted around Tir Melys. I’ve interviewed Guy Brinkworth. That was an enjoyable chunk of my life. He corrected me on my use of “pertain”, instructing me that I should have said “appertain”, plus a wordy explanation of meanings and contexts that I won’t bore you with.’

  ‘Thank you for that.’

  ‘He acknowledged that he overheard conversations that Elinor had with Caris and Afan about the incident with Gwyn. That stressed him out. He commented that he might well have killed Afan himself, if Peter hadn’t got there first.’

  Swift loosened his tie and stretched his legs out. ‘Yes, Peter did him a huge favour. Can you give me the details about what happened on the coastal path that day?’

  ‘I expect that’s allowed, and no one’s listening. I’ve watched all the interviews with Elinor. She was used to reading Guy and interpreting his moods. He was jittery on that Monday before he went out — worrying about his past catching up with him. She went for a walk in the meadow late afternoon and decided to go along a little bit of the coastal path. She saw Guy in the distance, cycling fast towards her. That surprised her. He didn’t usually cycle the coast path because of the stiles. He stopped and threw something into the sea. Then he air-pumped with his fist. She was alarmed, so she hid behind some gorse bushes and waited until he passed by. She saw that he appeared strange and very pale. When he’d cycled away, she walked along the path and saw Afan dead in the cairn. His eyes were open, and she slipped gloves on and closed them. She zipped up his cagoule too.’