The Wilderness Murders: DI Giles Book 16 (DI Giles Suspense Thriller Series)

by Anna-Marie Morgan

  “Well, other than his body, what signs would you expect?”

  “People sometimes lose items of clothing when they drown. A jacket or a shoe, for instance. Your husband left both shoes on the bank with the contents of his pockets. That suggests he intended coming back for them. People who intentionally drown themselves, rarely take the time to remove items first. They jump into the water with everything on.”

  Sian fell silent.

  “I wanted to ask you about an insurance policy which your husband took out in the months prior to his disappearance.”

  Sian stared at her, wide-eyed. “What about it?”

  “Did you know about it?”

  “He might have said something to me.”

  “Might have, or did?”

  She paused. “I think he did.”

  “When was that?”

  “Ages ago. I can barely remember the conversation.”

  “Well, a month ago? Two months ago? A year?”

  “Six months, maybe? He said he was looking into it.”

  “Why?”

  “He wanted to make sure that if he died, I wouldn’t be left high and dry.”

  “How long have you been married?”

  “Seven years.”

  “Why did he take out insurance now, and not seven years ago?”

  Sian shrugged. “You don’t think of those things so much when you’re young. It’s only as you mature you worry about the future.”

  “You are both still young.”

  “We were trying for a baby.” She didn’t look at the DI. “Jason said that if anything happened to him after I became pregnant… Well, he wanted to make sure we’d be okay.”

  “Are you pregnant?”

  Sian shook her head.

  “Have you been pregnant?” Yvonne’s tone was gentle.

  “No, we had stopped trying for a while. The doctor thought the rest from stress would do us both good. Lovemaking isn’t the same when you’re checking your temperature daily, and having to perform the act at specific times. We were on a break from trying, when Jason disappeared.”

  “What are you doing to keep your mind off things? Have you got support from family and friends?”

  “There are people I can turn to. I don’t see my family much, except my mother. I see her once or twice a fortnight for lunch.”

  “Do you have many friends?”

  Sian frowned. “What makes you ask that?”

  “I’m trying to build a picture. To find Jason, we have to know him better, find out what was going on in his life. I hope you understand that.”

  “I have male friends. I’ve always had male friends. Jason didn’t feel threatened, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

  “I’m merely trying to understand, Mrs Timms. However, I’ll let you get on with your sunbathing now, while we continue looking for your husband.”

  Sian glared at her, but Yvonne was already heading for the gate.

  17

  Close call

  “I want to see Yvonne Giles.” Carwyn Jones stood at the front desk, arms folded, sleeves rolled up, face red.

  He did not know the DI had reached the bottom of the stairs and was standing to his right. “Can I help you?” She asked.

  He swung round. “What’s this?” He waved a letter in front of her face. “What in hell’s name is all this about?”

  A uniformed officer approached. “Mister Jones, I must ask you to calm down, or you will be removed.”

  “It’s okay.” Yvonne smiled at the officer. “I’ll take it from here.”

  “Are you sure, I-”

  “I’m sure.” She turned her attention back to Carwyn. “Come with me, Mister Jones.”

  She led him to an interview room, losing count of the number of times he sighed.

  “Take a seat.” The DI pointed to the chair opposite. “Now then, Carwyn, tell me what the problem is. You’ve had a letter?”

  “Yes I have, asking me to bring in my shotguns for examination, and to bring in all relevant licences and documentation.”

  “The letter explains it is voluntary, Carwyn. It’s not compulsory.”

  “I don’t see why I should have to bring them in at all. Why do you want to test my guns?”

  “We’ll be asking a few others in the area for their guns, as well.”

  “Why?”

  “You’ll be aware that several people have been murdered in the area? The killer is using a shotgun.”

  “I don’t care if he is using a bloody wooden spoon. What has it got to do with my guns?”

  “As I think we explained, your son was seen on the Ridgeway, in your Land Rover, on the day a couple were killed up there. He has admitted to being there.”

  “You can’t seriously think he’s involved?”

  “This is an opportunity to rule out the involvement of your guns, and help us with our ballistic tests at the same time. You are not the only gun owner in the area whose guns and documentation have been requested. We are working our way down a list.”

  “Look, my son has got nothing to do with whatever is going on around here. He’s no killer. If you think otherwise, then you supply the evidence and arrest him. Otherwise, you are not getting your hands on our guns without a warrant. They are all legal. Here…” He took a wad of folded papers from his back pocket, tossing them onto the table. “It’s all there. Details of the guns and licences.”

  “You know we can ask to see someone’s weapons any time, while investigating a crime.”

  “And I can refuse you entry into my house without a warrant.” He flounced back in his chair, arms folded, face red and shiny.

  The DI sighed, glancing at her watch. “Very well. In that case, we’ll be in touch.”

  “Everything okay?” Dewi asked, peering at her from his desk as she re-entered the office.

  “He’s refusing to let us have his guns unless we arrest Ieuan. It’s been the morning for trouble, so far.”

  “Why, what’s happened?”

  “I’ve cheesed two people off already. I wonder if I can upset any more before the day is through? Perhaps, I should go see the DCI?” She grinned. “Add him to the tally.”

  Dewi laughed, hand on his belly. “It’s about time you had one of those days.”

  “This killer is getting to me, Dewi. And those we thought could help, are putting up barriers.”

  Her sergeant nodded. “In the meantime, our murderer is probably planning his next move, especially if we are to believe this.” He pulled out his copy of the Powys Times. “They’ve got him rubbing his hands with glee, while we run about like Keystone Cops.”

  “Oh, great.” She sighed, eyeing the cartoon.

  “I wouldn’t take it to heart. We’ve been here before.”

  Dai caught up with them, pen tucked behind his ear. “Ma’am, the DCI would like to see you in his office.”

  “Oh, bugger, that’s all I need.” She pulled a face. “What was I saying earlier? Add him to the list.”

  Dewi laughed. “Now, now.”

  She poked her head around the door. “You wanted to see me, Sir?”

  “Ah, Yvonne. Come in. Take a seat.”

  She did as she was told, wringing her hands beneath the desk, waiting for the onslaught.

  “I wanted to apologise.”

  Her eyes shot to his. “Sorry?”

  “For the other day, I was hard on you, I know.”

  “It’s all right...”

  “I heard about the Australian backpacker, and his DNA match with the blood on the rucksack. You were right all along about the owner being a victim.”

  This wasn’t what she had expected, being no closer to catching the vicious killer.

  The DCI continued. “I was harsh, and I’m sorry.”

  “It gives me no pleasure to discover I was right, Chris. In fact, I feel worse today… and more lost than I have in a while, and no nearer to finding the murderer. I owe the victims better.”

  He studied her face. “It�
��s getting to you. You look like you haven’t slept.”

  She sighed. “I was up several times in the night. The killer is playing us.”

  “You’ll get him. He’ll regret he ever messed with you and your team. Why don’t you go home? Take the rest of the day off. Catch up on your sleep and come at it fresh tomorrow.”

  She thought about it but, although tempting, time off would eat into the valuable hours they had to find the killer. Those hours could be the difference between life and death for a victim. “I think I’m good, sir.” She leaned forward in her chair. “I need to keep at it.”

  He sat back, tapping his fingertips together. “Well, the offer stands if you change your mind. I can hold the fort here.”

  She rose to leave. “Thank you, I’ll bear that in mind.”

  It was the best time to be in the forest, the height of summer. The greens of ash, oak, and sycamore were bright and varied.

  Blood lived on the opposite side of the colour wheel to foliage. That made them perfect partners.

  He closed his eyes, giving his ears a chance.

  They were talking, the unsuspecting couple. No, not talking, arguing… over a flask of tea, or rather, over the flask one of them had forgotten to pack. Funny that, having a disagreement about something so innocuous, at a time such as this — in the moments before their death.

  Was not knowing a good enough excuse for such frivolity? How different might their conversation be were they to realise how close they were to the end?

  He cocked his head to one side, eyes open once more, observing them through the leaves.

  The husband look tired, like he was regretting their trip into the forest. He ran his hands through his hair a lot.

  His wife had a faraway look. The look of boredom. Perhaps she didn’t want to be there either.

  It would have been better for them if they had never set foot in this forest. But they didn’t know that.

  He moved in as close as he dared. The couple were oblivious. One shot now would injure them both. The second barrel would be for the man as he struggled to react. He could then reload before finishing them.

  That was it. He had planned it, rehearsed it, and now the time had come.

  He levelled his gun, preparing for the shot, camouflaged by the surrounding greenery.

  What divine providence gave, however, it could also take away. He watched in horror and frustration as a young female and her mutt came bounding through the trees, heading straight for his intended victims.

  That goddamn flask of tea…

  She knew them. She handed over the beverage they had been arguing about. And now, they were all smiles. He couldn’t kill them all. To try would be to risk failure.

  The flask of tea wasn’t the only thing that couple had gotten back.

  They were smiling over the tea. Little did they know.

  18

  Suspicions

  Hugh Davies and his family occupied a terraced house in Garthowen, a nineteen-thirties housing estate on Plantation Lane, in Newtown.

  Yvonne paused at the garden gate, adjusting her clothing and preparing herself mentally for what was to come.

  The family had lost their teenage son. She could only imagine the pain they must be in.

  The DI cleared her throat, traversed the garden path, and knocked on the unassuming front door.

  It was opened by a stout man, peppered with copious grey stubble, whose overcast eyes betrayed a life’s spark gone.

  He greeted Yvonne without warmth, leading her along the hall to a small lounge, whose curtains were open only a couple of inches, the occupants having lost all interest in connecting with the outside world.

  “First, let me say how sorry I am for your loss.” She took a seat on the couch to the left of Hugh, who sat in an armchair.

  “My wife is devastated.” He shook his head. “We both are. Denise is in bed upstairs. She sends her apologies. She hasn’t been sleeping.”

  “No need to apologise. Please, pass on our condolences to your wife, and reassurance that we will find your son’s killer.”

  Hugh regarded her silently, as though weighing up her chances of success.

  The DI tilted her head. “Tell me about Kyle. Who was he, besides being your son?”

  He leaned back in the armchair, swollen eyes on the ceiling. “He was special. I know everyone says that about their children, but Kyle really was. He almost didn’t make it, you know. Almost died when he was born. He was blue. His throat was clogged and had to be cleared. It was touch-and-go, but the doctors persevered. When Kyle let out his first cry, it was the most beautiful thing I had ever heard. We considered ourselves blessed. We’d been trying for a child for five years, when Denise conceived him. Her doctor had been thinking we might need IVF. And there he was, our miracle baby.”

  “I understand he was still in school?”

  “Yes, he was in sixth-form.” Hugh sighed. “He was thinking about giving it up, though.”

  “Why?”

  He shook his head. “He was a sensitive boy, took things to heart. There were others… hard as nails. They picked on him.”

  “He was being bullied?”

  “We blame the school. It changed him.”

  “He was bullied by teachers?”

  “No, it wasn’t the staff, but I felt they could have done more to clamp down on the kids who were picking on others.”

  “How long had he been going through that?”

  “A few years. We’d have moved, but I’ve been with the same company all my working life. I wasn’t sure what else I would do.” He placed his head in his hands. “If only I’d bitten the bullet, and moved on.”

  “You mustn’t blame yourself,” she said, her voice soft. “Tell me about the bullying.”

  “It started after he’d been in high school for a couple of years. He was moved into a higher set. There were a few boys there who never accepted him. He wasn’t part of their clique. His friends were all in the next set down. It got much worse when he started dating Brianna.”

  “The girl he was with, the night…” Her voice faded.

  “The night they were killed, yes. He adored her. They wanted to get married, but we advised them to wait.”

  “Why did the bullying get worse after he began seeing Brianna?”

  “One bully was sweet on her. He kept telling Kyle to finish the relationship, or else.”

  “What was the ‘or else’?”

  “I don’t think he specified.”

  “Did they get physical with your son? Or was it all verbal?”

  “It was mostly verbal, and they’d exclude him from sports teams… Make him feel so uncomfortable, that he wouldn’t stay for the sports sessions after school. The physical bullying often involved things like throwing rubbers at the back of his head, when the teachers weren’t looking.”

  “I see.”

  “We were relieved when he opted for the arts in sixth-form. The kids with the issues were in the sciences. We thought that would put an end to it.”

  “But it didn’t?”

  “It was better, but they’d wait for him after school, and hassle Brianna, poking fun at the relationship. I think many kids might have brushed it off, but Kyle was sensitive to it. That’s when he started smoking weed.”

  She remembered the toxicology report that stated Kyle had smoked a cannabis cigarette on the night he died. “How long had he been using cannabis?”

  “He started when he was fifteen. We didn’t know right away. His mother suspected because he was always hanging out of his bedroom window and kept the top drawer in his cupboard locked. We could smell it. When we confronted him, he told us he used it in order to feel better about things. We tried to persuade him away from it but, after a while, we turned a blind eye. He seemed happier in himself. We were relieved about that.”

  “You said his bullies were studying sciences. Who were they? Did Kyle tell you?”

  Hugh shook his head. “He would never say, afraid of t
he repercussions from them if he said anything. He was worried that we would inform the school, and the attackers would know he had told on them. The only thing he told us, was that one ringleader lived on a farm out Welshpool way.”

  The DI frowned. “Really?” She scratched her cheek. “Does the name Ieuan Jones mean anything to you?”

  Hugh shook his head. “No, should it?”

  “I don’t know.” She pursed her lips. “Did your son tell you he was worried about anything, on the night he was killed? Did he seem worried, or preoccupied? Was he acting different to normal?”

  “Not that I recall. He seemed fine and was looking forward to his evening with Brianna. He kissed his mum on the cheek on the way out. That was the last we saw of him… alive.”

  “He didn’t phone or text you that night?”

  “No, but then he wasn’t in the habit of doing that. Often, on a night out, he would get home after I had gone to bed. Denise would stay downstairs until he got back, because she could never sleep until he was home, but I would go to bed around eleven.”

  “What time would you have expected him home that night?”

  “He was usually back before midnight. Kyle wasn’t interested in staying out without Brianna, and she always had to be home by eleven. He would escort her back safely, and then make his way home either by car or on foot, depending on what they had been doing. When Kyle wasn’t home by one in the morning, Denise woke me. We texted, and tried phoning him, but got no answer. At one-thirty, I called the police. I didn’t hear from them until Kyle was found by a patrol car. That’s when we found out that he and Brianna had been murdered in cold blood.”

  “That must have been a terrible shock.”

  “It’s something I had not even considered, losing our son at such a young age. I don’t know if we will ever recover. He was Denise’s life. She hasn’t been the same since his death. Neither of us have.”

  “Are you receiving support?”

  “We’ve been offered help, but can’t face dealing with anyone, yet.” He sighed. “Maybe in time…”