DI Giles BoxSet

by Anna-Marie Morgan

  Her breathing was hot and heavy inside the bag. In her mind, she was screaming.

  35

  Yvonne pulled up outside the three-storey house of Griff Roberts. She passed through police tape, which was still there, following the departure of SOCO and the clean-up team. She guessed that the grief-stricken partner of Griff had not had the heart to remove it, just yet.

  Her heart slowed, till it was barely beating, as she gripped the brass door knocker and pounded twice.

  The door was opened by a small-framed, young woman, who appeared painfully thin. Dark shadows, under red-rimmed eyes, gave her a lost look, and Yvonne's heart went out to her.

  “Della?” she asked gently. “Della Roberts?”

  “Yes.”

  “My name is Yvonne. Yvonne Giles. I'm a Detective Inspector with Dyfed-Powys police.

  “Come in.” Della turned her back and Yvonne closed the door behind them.

  She was led into a large sitting room, which was dimmed by half-closed blinds. A half-eaten plate of food lay on the glass coffee table, along with several part-filled mugs, whose contents were beginning to separate. There were various items strewn on the floor and a pile of dirty clothes was stacked unceremoniously in the corner. An ignored tabby cat mewed underneath the coffee table.

  “Shall I feed it?” Yvonne asked gently.

  “Sorry?”

  “Your cat.”

  “Oh, of course. Come into the kitchen. We can talk there...and feed Tigger.”

  Yvonne followed Della into a huge, black and red kitchen, ultra-sleek, with chrome fittings. Once there, she began checking the cupboards for tins of cat food, and was shocked by how little food there actually was, either for the cat or Della.

  “There are sachets in that cupboard, down there.” Della pointed vaguely at the corner. Yvonne found the cupboard on second go, and took a sachet of food from a box inside. The cat's bowl she located near the kitchen door. Tigger bounded up to her, rubbing himself on her knee, as she opened the sachet and ejected it's contents into a bowl, which had been licked clean. She finished off by putting fresh water in the bowl next to it. Tigger purred love in return.

  Della, lost in her own thoughts, gave no acknowledgement.

  “I'm so sorry for your loss,” Yvonne began, tentatively.

  Della looked in the direction of the DI, but her eyes remained unfocused.

  “It must have been a shock.”

  “We argued...the night before he was murdered.” Della gave a strangled sob. “I told him I hated him. I went to stay at my mother's h...house.”

  “Had he upset you?”

  “We'd been arguing more and more, over the last year.”

  “Was there a particular reason for that?”

  Della gave another sob which shook her whole frame. Her long, auburn hair fell forward and all but covered her face. “He was out a lot, and would regularly have weekends away with his friends. Some weekends I didn't get to see him at all.”

  “Della, can you tell me who those friends were?”

  “Some of them, I really didn't know many of them. I think a few had started out as customers of his firm. Some were from the fencing club, and others from the gun club. There were some guys he'd known in school...”

  Needle in a haystack sprung to mind, as Yvonne ran her hand through her hair. “Did any of his friends figure more in his life? Any he spent more time with? The weekends away, for instance, anyone in particular?”

  “He didn't always tell me who he was spending time with, Inspector. He'd tell me to have my friends round, or he'd buy some tickets for a spa weekend for me and my bestie.”

  “Did he ever mention concerns about change in Wales, perhaps particularly in connection with religion?”

  Della frowned, and looked at the DI fully for the first time since her arrival. “That's a strange question. Why do you ask that?”

  “Well, as I'm sure you're aware, your husband appears to have been murdered by the same killer who killed three priests and, we think, part of the killer's motivation may be anger at what he sees as a decline in Welsh culture.”

  “What would my husband have to do with that? Yes, he was a Welshman, but he spoke English. Yes, he was proud of his Welsh background and yes, he enjoyed talking about Welsh Heritage but he was no fanatic. I've never heard him moan about a decline in anything. He was a lay member of the church, though.”

  “We believe he knew his killer.”

  “Oh God...”

  “Your husband kept guns.”

  “Yes, I'm in the process of selling them.”

  “He had a sighted rifle, high-powered. We didn't find it when we went through his weapons. Do you know what happened to it?”

  “To be honest, I didn't know what weapons he kept. He had them before he met me and, although I knew he had guns, I didn't have anything to do with them.”

  Della appeared like she might pass out at any moment.

  “Have you eaten?” Yvonne suspected not.

  “No.”

  “Is there something I can get you?”

  “No. Thank you, officer. I will eat shortly.” Della sighed when she saw the doubtful expression on the DI's face, and added, “I promise.”

  Meirwen felt nauseous. She wasn't sure how long the she'd lain on the back seat of the car. The twists and turns in the road had given her heartburn, and she thought she might be sick into the cloth bag around her head. Just when she thought it was imminent, the car pulled over onto a gravelled area. As it came to a halt, she began retching.

  The back door was pulled sharply open and she was dragged out by her arms. Her knees scraped on the gravel, the tiny stones penetrating her skin. She felt their texture but not the sting.

  She could hear the gentle lapping of water and felt a strong breeze tugging at her clothes and the bag around her head. It relieved the heat inside it.

  When the bag was pulled off, she screwed her eyes up against the glare. It took a full few seconds of blinking for her to be able to properly open them.

  “Don't look at me.” Text-to-speech was back.

  Meirwen did what she was told and looked straight ahead. She was shivering, though the day was not cold. She recognised this place. To her right, were the stumps and roots of trees, exposed due to the recent hot weather. She was about to ask him why he had brought her here, when the bag was pushed back over her head and she was dragged to the water's edge.

  She knew, then. Knew the fate that awaited her. Somehow, she had known all along – had been waiting for it to happen. At least it would be an end to the fear. She was almost glad. She closed her eyes in silent prayer. As she felt the cold water on her face, she lost control of her bladder. She didn't struggle.

  36

  No! No! No!”

  Yvonne put her hands on either side of her head, swaying from side-to-side. Christopher Llewelyn was terrified she was about to pull out handfuls of her tousled hair. He raced over and pulled her hands away. He saw the tears in her eyes and the guilt deep within them.

  “You are not responsible for this, Yvonne. This was not your doing.”

  “We took the protection away from the church.”

  “I know, and that was ultimately my decision, Yvonne. I take full responsibility for that. But you know that we cannot force protection on someone who doesn't want it.”

  “I should have worked harder at persuading her...”

  “She was losing her congregation through fear, Yvonne. She was trying to reassure them. She was putting others first. Preaching was her vocation. Her life would have been meaningless without it and she told us some of her sermons had been delivered to a congregation of two or three. For her, that was unacceptable.”

  “They'll crucify us, for taking away the protection detail, and I'll deserve it.”

  “I'll speak to the papers. Right now, I want you to go take a break, get some coffee. If you don't feel better, I want you to go home – take a day off. Take a few days off.”

  “No.�
� Yvonne gave him a stern look, shaking her head emphatically. “No time off.”

  “Then, go take a breather. Come back in half an hour.”

  It took monumental effort to hold back the tears. After leaving Llewelyn's office, she ducked into the toilets and let go: swearing, crying and grabbing at paper towels so roughly, that none came away intact.

  “Meirwen, I am so sorry,” she said, staring into the mirror, her mascara staining the tops of her cheeks.

  Meirwen's body had been found by tourists at Llyn Celyn reservoir. She'd been drowned and mutilated. The inscription etched into her torso, all too familiar.

  “They found tyre tracks in the gravel.” Dewi put a gentle hand on the DI's shoulder, as they surveyed the horrific scene.

  Yvonne wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Can they get a print?”

  “They'll do the best they can, but they've already told us that it's unlikely to be anything usable for identification purposes.”

  “Make sure they get decent photographs. Something we can enhance. We're going to find this evil bastard and bring him to justice.”

  Tasha joined them, having travelled up with uniformed officers. “Yvonne, I just heard.”

  “Tasha, we should never have allowed the detail to be taken off the church. I knew it was a terrible idea.”

  “Short of whisking her off somewhere remote, under witness protection, I don't see how we could have prevented this. He would have gotten to her somehow.”

  “Not if she'd stayed in her house and we'd kept the officers on her church.”

  “That wasn't the life she wanted, Yvonne. I could see it in her eyes, she was suffering from survivor's guilt. It was almost as if she were determined to put herself in harm's way. But hey, she was expecting him, wasn't she? If I were a betting woman, I'd put money on her having found some way to leave us a clue to his identity. She was taken from the church, right?”

  “Yes...”

  “We'll start there. A bright woman like Meirwen will have left some sign, I'm sure of it.”

  Tasha always knew how to make her feel better. Yvonne was glad of her presence.

  37

  Six o'clock, and DCI Llewelyn was waiting for her outside the station. Yvonne put on her coat more slowly than usual. A feeling of dread ran through her.

  They were going to interview a suspect from Leighton Fencing Club, John Rees. Yvonne knew they had to up the tempo, there were too many victims already. Local and national news reporter groups were virtually permanently camped in the station car park.

  When they arrived at Leighton village hall, a lean man in his early forties was pacing up and down outside. His dark hair was partially hidden by a waxed hat, cocked at an angle, shirt sleeves were rolled up to the elbows, and his thumbs were hooked into the front pockets of his faded jeans.

  “John Rees?” Yvonne asked, closing her car door.

  “That's me.” The answer was delivered with a gruffness.

  “Thank you for agreeing to see us. We'll be as brief as we can.”

  His only answer was a nod.

  Yvonne cleared her throat, as the DCI joined her. “I'm DI Yvonne Giles and this is DCI Christopher Llewelyn.”

  John Rees looked from one to the other, giving each a brief nod.

  “We're investigating a series of murders in the area, including that of Griff Roberts. We have reason to believe our killer may be a fencer or have access to fencing weapons. We believe that Griff knew his killer. It's possible the murderer is a member of this club.”

  “Come on inside.” Rees turned for the door. “I've borrowed the hall keys. We can have a cup of tea in the kitchen.”

  Yvonne and the DCI exchanged glances and he motioned her in before him.

  They passed through the entrance hall, where photographs of various sporting actions hung on the wall, including a black and white shot of fencers sitting around, masks off, chatting and enjoying themselves. Yvonne paused, was their killer among them?

  Rees led them to the kitchen, off the main hall, where he proceeded to fill a kettle.

  “How well did you know Griff Roberts?” DCI Llewelyn leaned back against the counter-top, his expression thoughtful.

  “Quite well. We weren't close friends but we talked now and again at club functions and shared a few jars.”

  “What sort of functions?”

  “Christmas meals; drinks at club; birthday drinks – that sort of thing.”

  “Ever been to his house?” Yvonne accepted the tea offered, setting it down on the counter-top.

  “No. Never.”

  “Had he been to yours?”

  “No.”

  “Did you know his wife?”

  Rees hesitated. “I met her a couple of Christmas's ago. She seemed sweet.”

  “Did Griff own weapons?”

  “I think he was a member of a gun club and had a few guns.”

  Yvonne's eyes narrowed at this swiftly delivered reply.

  “Did you ever see his guns? Did he ever show them to you?”

  “No, we really weren't that close. I think he'd have been more likely to share that sort of thing with his gun club friends, not his fencing friends.”

  “How did you know about his guns?”

  “Occasionally, he'd mention they were having a shoot at the club. I think the shoots were mostly on Saturdays, but he didn't ever go into detail.”

  “Do you have an interest in guns, Mr. Rees?”

  “Not at all, Inspector.” His eyes pierced her, as though daring her to challenge him.

  “Do you know anyone else, here at the fencing club, who does?”

  “None that I know of.”

  “You'd tell us if you did...”

  “Of course.”

  As they finished their tea, both Yvonne and Chris knew they would get little more from John Rees. His frequent sighs and distracted gaze said it all. As did his picking of non-existent lint from his trousers.

  Yvonne took a card from her pocket. “Will you call us if you think of anything else, or you hear anything you think we should know?”

  “I will. Sorry I couldn't be of more help.” His face was impassive, giving Yvonne the distinct feeling he wasn't at all sorry.

  As they travelled back to Newtown, Yvonne rubbed the hard ridge of her scar, deep in thought.

  “Penny for them?” Llewelyn asked, keeping his eyes on the road.

  “I don't know about you, but I didn't feel anything coming from him. I mean, even if he wasn't close friends with Griff, surely he would have expressed shock – hurt, maybe. Concern for Griff's wife...something, but he was emotionless.”

  “I know, he wasn't asking questions. He didn't ask if anyone else at the club might be at risk.”

  “He's just moved himself higher up my list of suspects.”

  38

  Another fencer, Kevin Abbott, was waiting for them at the front desk. Dewi had signed him in and was busy making him a coffee. Kevin was only too willing to assist, and had even kept the sergeant on the phone, earlier that day.

  In the interview room, he was relaxed but concerned. A tall man, he appeared a little uncomfortable when positioning his legs. Yvonne was struck by his unusually large hands, especially since she knew he must perform some very delicate operations with those hands.

  “Dr. Abbott, this is an informal interview,” she began. “We are trying to get as much information as we can to help us piece together the events surrounding the murder of Griff Roberts. I understand you were both members of the same fencing club?”

  “It's Mr...If you're a surgeon, it's Mr. We were in the same club. Griff was a nice guy. One of the more competitive fencers at the club. Awful thing, to happen to him. Do you think his death was related to the murders that have been all over the TV and the papers?”

  “Possibly,” Yvonne said, thoughtfully. “How well did you know Griff?”

  “Quite well. I knew him from the club, and I'd been on a few pheasant shoots with him. I didn't kill many,
I wasn't very good.”

  “Do you own guns?”

  “None of my own. I went with Griff, at his invitation. He always supplied the shotguns.”

  “I understand that he was also a member of a gun club. Did you ever go to this gun club with him?”

  “No, I'm not that into club shooting.”

  “Did Griff ever express worries or doubts about anyone else at the fencing club?”

  “No...I don't think so...” Kevin's eyes were closed, as he struggled to recall. “Oh...no...wait...Yes, he did, just a few weeks ago.”

  Yvonne leaned forward. “What did he say?”

  “He said he'd been to the club on a Saturday for a practice session, for a competition which was coming up in Wrexham.”

  “Okay...”

  “He said that he and an opponent had a really tight match.”

  “Go on.”

  “After the match, Griff took off his fencing mask and his opponent lunged forward and placed the plastic tip of his foil right between Griff's eyes.”

  “Why did he do that?”

  “Griff didn't know, but he was certainly scared at the time. He could have had a serious eye injury.”

  “I'm guessing that's not how fencers normally behave.”

  “No, it isn't. Like I say, Griff was very shaken at the time. Afterwards, the guy just laughed it off, like it was nothing.”

  “Mr Abbott, who was the opponent? Did Griff tell you?”

  “No, I'm afraid not, Inspector. Our chat was interrupted by a youngster wanting to practice. I meant to catch up with Griff over a cup of tea, in the kitchen afterwards, but he'd left early and that was the last time I saw him. I was working a lot of long shifts at the hospital, and didn't fence much for a few weeks after that.”

  “I see.”

  “I wish I'd asked him. I really, really wish I'd persisted in asking him who that man was. Now, at the club, I'm looking at people and wondering if it was them. Griff had only signed himself in that day. I guess he'd been expecting his guest to sign in, likewise.”