by Sam Hurcom
When the time came, I called over to these men, who had congregated together and begun smoking and speaking amongst themselves. I asked for Edward and Will, and two of the lads, both around the age of twenty, lifted their hands casually. I spoke to each separately, taking their account of what transpired after Miller had found Betsan’s body. Edward, who had run from the woodlands and raised the alarm with Vaughn, gave a frank, dare I say, thorough statement. He seemed wiser than his years, well-spoken and articulate. He explained quite plainly his fear upon seeing the body; there was no shame in that. He had run without any real thought, claiming it had been the right thing to do.
‘Most here believe something dwells within the woodlands,’ I asked him flatly. ‘That it – be it spirit, demon or monster – killed the girl and left her in the state you men found her. Do you share that opinion?’
He shrugged. ‘I’m not arrogant enough to claim I know everything of this world.’
I smiled thinly at that; a good answer if any were ever given.
‘Did you speak to Betsan much or know her personally?’
‘Not personally,’ he remarked, rather guardedly. ‘She was often at the mill, though.’
‘There have been claims she may have grown close with some of the men.’
He seemed to take my meaning. ‘I know I never did, and it’s not my place to speak for others.’
‘That may be,’ I replied, ‘but it is imperative to this enquiry that you tell me.’
He scratched his chin, before looking briefly over his shoulder at the group across the hall.
‘Yes,’ he said as he turned back to me. ‘I know some became close with her, as you put it.’
This was something of a breakthrough, for there was finally some weight to the rumours of Betsan’s dalliances.
‘Who?’ was all I asked.
‘It’s not my place.’
‘Who?’ I pressed him.
With a sigh and another brief glance behind him, Edward rubbed his forehead, leaning into me a little.
‘Speak to Geraint, I’m not sure there was anyone else,’ he whispered.
I nodded. As I glanced over Edward’s shoulder, I could see Geraint Davey wasn’t in attendance; he would have stood head and shoulders above those in the hall. Vaughn must still have been looking for him.
I questioned Edward for another ten minutes, before checking his arms. He had a long, slender abrasion running from the base of his neck, and revealed more of it across his right shoulder.
‘Bloody barbed wire farmers are sticking up. Tried climbing through a gap and got caught.’
It seemed a reasonable explanation, though I dared not take any chances. With all the secrets and lies of the village, I was accepting no one at face value.
‘I’ll need to photograph it for the enquiry. Stand here, please.’
Edward grumbled as I made him stand sideways on before the camera, though acquiesced as I told him to reveal the abrasion in full. I only took one picture, though it would be more than enough. When I was satisfied I told him he was free to leave before thanking him for his time. He looked at me a little aggrieved and took a step away, before coming back and leaning in close.
‘You shan’t tell Geraint what I told you?’
I merely shook my head, though a look of disappointment remained on his face. He walked over to the group of men, spoke to them a little, before leaving the hall.
I mused on the day of my arrival, recalling Geraint and his brother passing by as I had made my examination of the scene.
Great shame about the young woman, Inspector.
It was apparent then that he had meant what he said, for his tone was disheartened, his expression one of melancholy. It was a priority that I spoke with him, and as I continued questioning the mill hands one by one, I regularly looked over towards the door of the hall, waiting for any sign of Geraint’s arrival.
The hours passed. Some of the men spoke poorly of Betsan, though with the knowledge I now had, I wondered if their words were driven by some spite and envy; I asked each one if they had made advances on the girl. To this I received bitter laughs, sarcastic remarks and words of disdain. Each man was clearly bluffing, for it was obvious that Betsan had rejected them in some fashion. I took another two pictures of potential defence wounds inflicted by Betsan at the time of her attack, though as with Edward, both men provided very reasonable explanations.
Soon I began to worry that Geraint would not show, envisaging then that upon speaking to Constable Vaughn, he had tried to flee the village. More and more I wondered if he was the guilty man, and as I noted the time at four o’clock, I was almost certain of it. With only a handful of the mill workers left, I debated abandoning my questions to go in search of him. As I became set on this notion, concluding a round of questions and rising from my chair to speak to those left waiting, I heard the door of the hall open. In stepped a drenched Constable Vaughn, followed by a downtrodden Geraint Davey.
I returned to my seat, gesturing subtly to Vaughn. He stood close to the door, watching those who remained. They were quiet now, a small pile of cigarette ends stubbed out on the floor.
I thought best to leave Geraint last, and whilst I shouldn’t like to admit that I rushed my questioning of the other men, I certainly did. I caught his eye on more than one occasion. He was clearly nervous.
The hall was empty, with the exception of Geraint, Vaughn and myself. Vaughn had pulled up a seat and sat close by, leaning against the wall with his arms folded. Geraint sat opposite me, his tanned forearms resting on the desk, his hands clasped.
‘What’s all this about?’ He had dried off somewhat in the time since he had arrived, though as he spoke, a single fat drop of rainwater fell from his hair onto the table.
I thought how best to start, whether delicately or otherwise. I chose the latter. ‘Betsan, of course. Her murder. You were intimate with her.’
He looked at me, shocked. ‘You couldn’t know that.’
I concurred. ‘I couldn’t know that for certain, but the way you spoke to me briefly down in the woodland suggested it. Some today have hinted at it.’
He remained silent but began cracking his knuckles.
‘Intimacy is a broad term,’ I continued, ‘meaning all sorts of things. Either you were together, courting as it were.’ He scoffed a little at that. ‘Or it was something more salacious. Most in the town agree that Betsan was promiscuous.’
‘They’re bloody liars,’ he snapped back at me.
‘Then tell me the truth, now is your chance.’
He shook his head a little, looking down at his hands. There was an awkward smile, a brief stifling, before he broke down entirely and burst into tears. It took me quite by surprise, and I glanced over at Vaughn, who had sat up fully in his chair. He too seemed quite taken aback.
‘She meant the world to me,’ Geraint wept, running his hands through his damp hair. ‘She didn’t deserve any of it, what was done to her.’
His tears began to flow more heavily, his soft whimpers echoing around the hall. I tried to maintain my cold demeanour, though this reaction was far removed from what I had expected.
‘You need to tell me everything,’ I finally said, tapping my hand lightly on the table.
It took him quite some time to bring himself under control, though even then he seemed fragile, ready to break down again at any moment.
‘What do you want to know?’ he snivelled after a few minutes.
‘You and Betsan, when did it start?’
He shrugged. ‘About six months ago. We’d spoken before then, only a little. I started talking to her one day up on the common. It all began from there.’
‘You were courting then, a fair description?’
He nodded. ‘She’d come down and see me when she could. She used to hang around a lot, would talk to the boys so it didn
’t seem like she was just there for me. Some of them had eyes on her, got salty when she turned them down.’
‘So you hadn’t told anyone then?’
‘No. She was scared of her mother, thought it would get back to her. I didn’t care what anyone thought; it didn’t matter to me.’
‘Why was she so fearful of her mother?’
Geraint laughed dryly. ‘Have you met her?’
I nodded, recalling some of my addled conversation with Catrin. ‘I have.’
‘Then you know how mad she is – she raised her own daughter in the middle of a marsh, for Christ’s sake.’ He pulled out a packet of cigarettes from his pocket, fumbling to take hold of one. ‘She never wanted Betsan with a man, never! Used to beat her when she was a child, told her she had to be her own woman when she grew up.’ After a moment he tossed the pack onto the table. ‘Betsan was worried she may kick her out of the house, or worse.’
‘Worse?’ I asked slowly. ‘Was Betsan in fear of her life with Catrin?’
Geraint shook his head and waved a hand away. ‘I don’t know – some days I think Betsan would get upset, is all. Perhaps she made things with Catrin seem worse than they really were. She always asked if she could come live with me but that’s not possible with my brother …’
He trailed off then, snatching a cigarette quickly. I shared a brief glance with Vaughn as Geraint struck a match upon the table.
Could Catrin have played a part in the murder? Could she have found out about Geraint and seen to her own daughter’s death?
I paused for just a moment. ‘So, what was your intention? Had you talked of any plans with her?’
‘We wanted to leave. Head to Cardiff, maybe London.’
‘What stopped you?’
‘Money, of course, I’m not a rich man. I couldn’t just take her away. Then there’s Lewis, he needs help. I couldn’t leave without him.’
I nodded, watching Geraint as he took a heavy drag on his cigarette.
‘So Betsan was afraid of her mother, wanted to get away from her – this village, really – but couldn’t. How did that make her feel? So far, I’ve gathered that Betsan had very few friends, if any. You were probably the only person here she really confided in.’
‘She didn’t have friends,’ Geraint replied simply. ‘I think everyone her age got sent away when those two young ’uns were killed five years ago.’
I was taken aback. ‘You’re willing to talk about those murders?’
‘I wasn’t going to talk about any murders. Had a feeling you might try and blame me for Betsan’s death once you found out we were close.’
I said nothing of the last remark. ‘Do you want to tell me anything about the murders of the twins?’
Geraint shrugged. ‘Changed this place. It’s never been as kind as it once was. Now with Betsan …’ His hand shook as he took another drag.
‘The Constable believes the murders of the children were committed by a vagrant, an individual who happened upon them in the woodlands. Their father thinks the same.’
‘You’ve spoken to the twins’ father?’ Geraint was obscured for an instant by a thick cloud of blue-grey smoke. I nodded; he stared into space for a moment or two. ‘I would have believed that story before. Now with Betsan.’
His cigarette had burnt down to a slender nub, though his fingers held firm to it as the glowing ends of charred ash burnt against his skin. I thought how to go on.
‘Catrin told me Betsan was bringing money home with her recently.’ I could barely remember the conversation but knew what I said to be true. ‘Were you giving it to her?’
‘I gave her a little,’ Geraint said vacantly. ‘Odd bob here and there.’
‘The mother implied Betsan was bringing home quite a bit more than that, with some regularity in recent weeks.’ I coughed, knowing there was no easy way to say what needed to be said. ‘There are rumours of possible prostitution—’
It was all I was able to say. Geraint stood suddenly and kicked his chair before moving over to the wall opposite Vaughn. He leant his head against it. Vaughn and I shared wary glances, before turning back to Geraint, who sunk to the floor. He was nothing of the man I had watched brawling outside the inn. No more a towering thug, now a heartbroken wreck, tears flooding from his eyes once more.
‘I need to know, Geraint,’ I called over to him. ‘If travellers were camped just outside the village, I have to be sure that Betsan wasn’t visiting them to sell herself.’
His head had been in his arms but now he raised it, looking straight at me, as though my words, my very insinuation, had physically hurt him. He sniffed loudly.
‘She loved me, Inspector. And I loved her. She wasn’t visiting any travellers – I never saw no sight of them anywhere near the mill and I know that’s not what she was doing.’
He wailed more than spoke, but I needed to get to the bottom of the matter.
‘If you were not giving her money – and if a group of travellers weren’t – where would such money be coming from?’
I feared I had pushed the man too far for he wouldn’t answer, nor did he speak for another five minutes or so, his sobs bellowing by comparison to the storm’s meagre thunder. Vaughn left his seat and stepped over towards me, though neither of us conferred or uttered a word.
Finally, Geraint looked over towards the pair of us. ‘She started talking about the General,’ was all he could whimper.
‘The General?’ I asked with some confusion. ‘General James, on the mount?’
Geraint nodded. ‘She’d been speaking with him. I don’t know when it started. She told me he wanted to see her.’
At this I rose from my chair. ‘What were they speaking of?’
Geraint rubbed his eyes and muttered something under his breath. I told him to speak and he did so quietly.
‘About three weeks ago she got excited. Talked about something wonderful, something for the both of us. She wouldn’t say what, kept telling me it was a surprise.’
I noted this down, as Vaughn began talking, asking Geraint why he had not spoken of this before. I interrupted him as he quickly became more animated with Geraint. He was overzealous, perhaps trying to right his wrongs, those he had admitted to me that morning.
I stood in silence for a moment, thinking. What on earth could Betsan have had to do with the General? Whatever his sudden interest with her, I was certain it was linked to the murder.
‘Where were you on the day prior to the murder and during the night it took place, Geraint? Did you see Betsan at all?’
He was looking at Vaughn angrily, turning to me slowly before he spoke.
‘Yes, I saw her.’
‘When?’
‘In the evening, after I’d been working. I met her down past the mill, at the old fort around the Cwm Sior.’
‘What time?’ I was stern with him then.
‘Seven, maybe a bit later. She was all excited again, talking ’bout the General. I kept asking what her secret was, and when she wouldn’t tell me, I got angry.’ He pointed a finger at me. ‘Before you get any ideas, I wouldn’t tell you this if I thought you might pin it all on me.’
I began putting on my coat. ‘So keep talking and make sure it is the truth.’
‘We rowed. I told her I didn’t trust the General, that he just wanted something from her, that he was a blithering fool. She got upset. Ran away from me before I could stop her.’
I stepped over to him at quite a stride, pocketing my notebook as I went.
‘You realise that so far you are the last man to see her alive? You’ve told us you argued with her.’
As I came close to him he looked up at me furiously.
‘Why would I tell you then? What good would it do me?’
‘It’s a ruse, to rule yourself out. You tell me part of the truth to conceal the entirety of it.
It’s why you didn’t tell me this sooner and why you never reached out to the Glamorgan Constabulary when Betsan was killed. Show me your arms.’
He looked from me to Vaughn in total amazement. ‘You can’t be serious?’
‘Why didn’t you come to me sooner then?’
‘For this reason,’ he cried. ‘You’ll blame her death on me.’
‘Your sleeves, roll them up.’
He began to stand and I held him down by the shoulder, calling over to Vaughn, who whisked across the room to my side.
‘You’re a prime suspect, don’t make this more difficult than it needs to be.’
After a little more jostling, he yielded, shaking his head with incredulity, before shrugging off his coat and going so far as to unbutton and remove his shirt.
There was a thin gash across his upper arm, healing over but still visible. Upon closer inspection I saw an even thinner mark just below.
‘How did you get those?’
‘For God’s sake, I can’t know how I get every mark and scratch as I work.’ He leant his head back against the wall as his eyes began to well up once more. ‘This is insanity. I didn’t do it! I didn’t tell anyone ’cause you’d pin it all on me!’
‘We’ll need to document those. I’ll see to it later.’ I turned to Vaughn. ‘Make sure he doesn’t leave; use what means you see fit.’
Vaughn hesitated. ‘Um. I don’t … Um—’
‘You have shackles, yes?’ Vaughn nodded. ‘If you need to, use them.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘To speak to the General. To get to the bottom of this.’
I began to leave the hall, walking brazenly. Neither man said anything to me, and as I came into the small foyer, I pulled up the collar of my coat, preparing for the dreadful weather outside.
I felt a stab of pain in my left temple. An image came with it, the image from one of my negatives. I saw Betsan’s body at rest in the cellar of All Saints church. The cracks of burnt flesh glowing like cinders. Flowing hair like lightning streaks. The dreadful spectre lurking in the background – though this is not what I focused on.
I saw the ring upon Betsan’s left hand, the fourth finger, glowing brighter than all else in the image. A ring that hadn’t been on the body, that hadn’t been found at the scene. A ring that up to this point I had no thought or recollection of, for down in the cellar of the inn and in the darkness of my chamber the fever had gripped me so terribly.