She ran her thoughts past Dewi, who'd brought her coffee and a Chelsea bun from Evans' cafe.
“I get what you're saying,” Dewi said with his mouth full. “It's just that it wouldn't be beyond the realms of possibility that two dads would tuck their loved ones up after killing them. Like a last act kindness. Their way of saying sorry.”?
“Okay, but just look at the children.”
“I'm looking...”
“Not one of them over six years old.”
“Uhuh...” He shook his head blankly.
“Well, not one of them is holding a teddy, cuddle-blanket or favourite toy. You've had children. Don't you find that unusual? My nephew and niece always sleep cuddled up to something.”?
Dewi grabbed the file and peered a little more closely at the photos. “Well, you're right about that.” He leaned back. “?I still don't think that'll be enough to convince anyone to look more deeply, given the state of both the fathers' finances.”
“You looked at the Bennett file, then.” Yvonne gave her DS a raised-eyebrow look.
“I did. And I can tell you I have some sympathy for your position.”
“There's something else.”
“Go on.”
“Looking at the floor plans, there's some distance between the children's rooms and the parents room. In the Bennett case, there was even the separation of a floor.”?
“So...” Dewi screwed up his face.
“So, the children could have been killed without waking the parents up.”
“I still don't think that's enough to persuade anyone to keep the case open.”
Yvonne shrugged. “Well, I'm going to try Llewellyn, anyway. He can but turn me down and, in the meantime, Dewi, I want you to dig deep into the backgrounds of these two men. Find out why the sudden downturns in fortune. I want to know who their business associates were.”
Dewi nodded, grinning. He could see the fight in her, and admired her courage to take on their superiors.
He enjoyed dusk. One of his favourite times. The encroaching darkness, whilst making most of humanity feel less safe, helped him feel powerful. To see and not be seen. That's what it was about. They liked their glass, modern families. Flaunting their lives. Allowing the likes of him better access. Little did they know.
He took a swig from his coke can, then ran its coldness over his forehead. From up among the trees, he could see the house clearly. The lights were on. He took out his binoculars, searching each window for her.
When he found her, she was kissing one of her children goodnight, cuddling him tight and smelling his hair. Smiling indulgently, in that proud-mother way. After she'd tucked him in, she came to the window. Looking out on the night. She wouldn't see him from where she was.
Deborah Ball was dressed ready for bed. A flimsy, pyjama-shorts all-in-one. Silk, by the look of it. He imagined running his hands over her, whilst she wore it. Not that he would get to do this for real. He didn't touch them before dispatching them. No, the pleasure was in the build-up. The creation of the perfect conditions for his finale: the final possession of their lives.
He changed windows when Mrs Ball closed the blinds, blocking his view. Tony Ball was in his study, looking dishevelled, pouring over papers he'd probably poured over before: desperate for them to tell him his ship wasn't sinking, and sinking fast. Head in his hands, shoulders hunched. The look of defeat.
With a jolt, Tony Ball sat upright, the expression on his face morphed to a smile. Deborah had joined him. He could see Tony closing his folder and pushing his chair back, for his wife to sit on his knee, and the watcher felt the hot knife of jealousy in his gut, twisting and sending tingles up his sides and down his thighs.
He put the caps on his binoculars, stowing them in his canvas bag. He'd wait until it was completely dark, before heading back down the lane.
5
Yvonne tentatively rapped on DCI Llewellyn's door.
“Come in.” His voice cracked, sounded hoarse.
“Cold, sir?” she asked, as she entered.
“Had the darn thing for a couple of days now. What can I do for you?” He blew his nose and put his handkerchief back in his pocket.
“I want to talk to you about the Davies case, sir.”
“The family-homicide case?”
“Yes.”
“Go ahead. I was going to speak to you about it sometime today.”
“I want permission to carry on investigating for a while.”
“Errr...that's what I want to speak to you about.”
“You're not telling me you're shutting it down?”
“Well, everything we have points directly at the father. We have forensics from his clothing and from the gun. His finances were a mess and he'd self-referred to his GP for depression. It's as near to an open-and-shut case as we ever get, and the superintendent is cock-a-hoop that we don't need to spend any further time or resources on it. The budget's under the cosh by all accounts.” The DI was biting her lip. “Yvonne? You're going to tell me you have other thoughts...”
“It's all a bit snug.”
“And that's your evidence for having the case stay open, is it?”
“It's a little more than that, sir. I've been comparing case files with a similar family-murder from West Mercia, happened four months ago. The death scenes –? the positioning of the bodies – they're pretty near identical. The mothers and children were all tucked up, covers under their chins. Their heads were even facing to the same side. What are the chances of that?”
“They were killed in their beds, Yvonne.”
“Both fathers had been financially sound until six months prior to their deaths. Six months in both cases. That's a hell of a coincidence.”?
“Coincidences happen.”
“Maybe they do, but, when it comes to multiple murder, I don't believe in them.”
“Desperate men do desperate things, Yvonne.”
Yvonne thought of her father and her eyes glazed over. “I know. I know they do.”
“Yvonne?”
The DI jumped. “I just don't think they did in these cases.” She said the words but, for the first time, had some doubt about them. Her father had taken the ultimate step. He'd taken them all by surprise. He just hadn't taken them all with him.
“Look,” Llewellyn sighed. “I'd love to lend you my support. I really value your intuition. But I'll need more than you're giving me to take to the super.”?
Yvonne nodded, feeling defeated, tired or both. “Okay. If I get anything else, I'll come back.”
“I'll take another look, if it's by the end of the week, but I don't want you wasting time on this case once it's officially closed.”?
“Understood.”
6
She gave a nod to the two constables at the gate, flashing her ID. She knew they'd write her name down, noting that she'd visited the scene again, but she didn't care. And anyway, the case wasn't officially closed, yet. She still had until the end of the week to find something. After that, the crime scene would be cleared; the house sold by the bank; a new family moved in, and the Davies family forgotten by the world at large.
Yvonne pushed aside the blue and white tape and entered through the front door. The house had already begun to take on that distinctive smell of abandonment: the onset of damp, with its distinctive mould aroma; fading food and activity smells lingering in household fabrics; and wood, expanding where rain had penetrated.
It was a beautiful residence with a modern interior. Lots of light, high ceilings and mezzanine floors. No curtains. For the first time, she wondered if a killer had watched the family. Could they have been stalked? There were blinds on some of the windows, but, at least downstairs, it looked like they hadn't been used for some time, judging by the dust patterns. A house like this wasn't designed for window coverings, but had that made its occupants easy prey for the eyes of a predator? Was it someone who knew the family well? The village of Knighton was small and tucked away amongst the Powys hills. She
didn't imagine this to be an obvious haunt for a stranger.
Yvonne climbed the stairs the glass-and-metal stairs to the bedrooms. She entered the children's room. It was light and spacious. Vertical blinds hung on the windows, and it was clear to the DI they'd been in regular use. With so many bedrooms in the house, she guessed that the three children were roomed together to prevent their fear of the dark.
A lump developed in her throat and her stomach muscles clenched, as she looked down upon the beds. The children were gone, but Yvonne could so easily recall them, they might still be lying there. The blood and biological spatter was as it had been when forensics left. She took her own photographs with her mobile.
Around the room, on floating shelves, were books and teddy bears, dolls and puzzles. On the floor were scattered building bricks, Lego and a push trolley. A part-built Lego robot sat looking sorry for itself, and next to the little girls' bed lay a story book, perhaps containing the last story they had heard. Not for the first time, the DI felt hot tears wending their way down her face, and longed to scoop up those little ones and make everything all right.
On a high shelf, she found two small blankets. Too small to be bed coverings. She held them to her nose and recognised the smell from her nephew and niece's cuddle-blankets. These blankets had been dragged everywhere.
A small bear was sat within them both, and his smell was also reminiscent of a cuddle-toy. He looked well-worn. Why were they on a shelf and not tucked up with the children? Why had nothing cuddly been found in the children's beds? Had a killer removed them? If he had, he had taken them from the sleeping children prior to killing them, as they contained no blood. Was this the act of a psychopath? A loving father, who would tuck his children up in bed after killing them, would surely not remove their favourite things before doing so. Those two actions were diametrically opposed. If they had gone to sleep with cuddle toys, someone removed them. That someone was not a loving parent.
She left the children's room, heading for the parents' bedroom. If she shut out the bloody mess that was now the bed and the walls, this was a large and tranquil space. Designed to be restful, with fabrics of whites, creams and greys –? in contrast to the bright colours in the children's room. She took more photographs.
Again, it was easy to recall Mrs Davies' body, the bloody cover tucked under her chin. The blood and brain spatter remained. Killed in her sleep. Was she killed first? Or were the children killed first? There was enough distance between the rooms that it was possible she wouldn't have woken at the noise, if they were.
On a whim, the DI checked the bathroom cabinet. She took out the few packets of pills. Two of them had prescription labels, both of which were for Mrs Davies. One of them she recognised as sleeping pills. She'd know from the pharmacology report, as soon as it was in, whether Mrs Davies had taken any the night she died.
She took the stairs to the ground floor and walked the several hundred yards to the kitchen-diner, at the back of the house. Ben Davies had been slumped on the island. Nothing else in the room was disturbed. Blood had spattered on top of the island, on the floor behind him, and on the wall at the back. No footprints had been found in the blood.
If she didn't conform to the official school of thought, she could start with a scenario of Ben being killed first. In fact, she didn't see how a killer could destroy the man's family without him intervening, even at the risk of his own life. No. If she was right, Ben Davies was killed first. That meant the killer somehow got blood from the victims onto the father's shirt after he was already dead.
She recalled the positioning of the body and knelt down, to examine underneath the oak breakfast bar. She took out a pocket torch. There was nothing obvious, perhaps a slight discolouration. She took out latex gloves and the swab kit from her bag, and ran a cotton bud along the length of the underside of the oak ledge, where the dad had been positioned, placing it in the Sterilin. She just about had time to get this off to forensics before the dreaded deadline.
The final room she wanted to access was Mr Davies' study. This was where he would have stressed about his financial situation, especially if hiding it from his family. This was also where he would have made any plans.
It was another spacious and light room. Sparse furnishings, with a large wood and steel desk, which appeared custom-made for the space. A wall of books towered over one side, the top shelves of which were accessed via a slide-along ladder.
On his desk, was scattered the remains of Mr Davies' paperwork, the rest having been taken by investigators. There was a brochure for canal-barge holidays. Ironically, these were full of smiling families, enjoying summer sunshine. This might have been one of the last things her browsed before his death. Or perhaps he'd had the pamphlet for ages and had dismissed the holiday idea.
The view through his main window was of the well-groomed garden, surrounded by trees and shrubs. A place where a killer might lurk, unseen.
The nearest neighbours, also good friends of the Davies family, lived several hundred metres away, in another large house. Yvonne banged hard on the knocker.
“Mrs Swanson?” Yvonne asked, when a forty-something lady with dark, wavy hair, opened the door, looking ashen but otherwise well.
“Yes, I'm Mrs Swanson. What's happened?” she asked when the DI gave her name, flashing her ID.
“I understand you knew the Davies family...”
“I did. They were my friends. Are you here because of what happened?”
“I've come to ask you how well you knew them, and to find out more about them, if that's okay with you.”
Mrs Swanson ushered her in and closed the door, leading her into a comfortable lounge. “Please take a seat. Can I get you a cup of tea?”?
“No, thank you, Mrs Swanson.”
“We'd known them for about five years. Ben was an old business associate of Ted's...that's my husband. It was our suggestion that they see that house, when they were looking to buy. Sheila Davies became my best friend. Our children played together.”?
Yvonne could see the pain in Mrs Swanson's eyes. “Did your children ever have sleepovers?”
“Frequently.”
“And the Davies children, did they sleep at yours?”
“Yes.” Mrs Swanson looked puzzled at the question.
“Would you have noticed if the children had cuddle-blankets or cuddle-toys?”
“Cwtches? Yes, they did. Never came here without them. Little Stephen would cry and cry if he'd forgotten his, and Ted would run over and get it. Our whole family is absolutely devastated.”?
“Mrs Swanson -”
“Kelly.”
“Kelly, I'm really sorry for your loss. It must have been a real shock.”
“Never saw it coming. I've talked to Ted about it over and over. Neither of us had any inkling. They were a close family. We talked about whether they might have made a pact.”?
A pact. Yvonne hadn't thought of that. “And what were your thoughts about that?”
“Not possible. Even if Sheila and Ben had decided to end it all, they would not have taken their children with them.”?
“How sure are you about that? You had only known them for five years.”
“Ted had known them longer. For the five years I had known them, we were really close. We holidayed together regularly and had family barbecues. We talked about just about everything and always run stuff past each other, if we were thinking of doing anything unusual.”?
“And you're sure they wouldn't have killed their own children?”
“I'm positive.”
“Did they ever talk to you about money troubles?” Yvonne asked, scribbling madly.
“Ben discussed financial concerns with Ted. They'd leave us and go off and talk about stuff. Sheila didn't mention it to me. Not once. Ben was trying to shield his wife and children as much as possible. But Ted would talk to me when we went to bed at night. He was really worried about Ben's health, him shouldering all that worry by himself. I guess it was much harder
for him than even we realised.”
“Did Sheila take sleeping tablets?”
“Only when she needed to.”
“Was anything worrying her? Why did she take them?”
“She had periods of insomnia. I think it was investigated medically and no reason was found. Like I said, she took them when she needed to.”?
“How much did Ted know about Ben's financial or business worries?”
“I don't know for sure, but I'd hazard a guess it was pretty much everything. They were that close.”
“Did the family have any other concerns besides financial ones?”
“None that I'm aware of. They were happy. The children were happy.”
“I saw a brochure for canal holidays on Ben's desk. Were they planning a break?”
“Ted said that Ben had been seriously thinking about buying a barge and making a major life change: the whole family living on a barge. Apparently, he brightened up whenever he talked about it. The idea, this year, was that we all go on a barge holiday together, to give it a try. See how feasible it might be.”?
“That doesn't sound to me like someone who intended to kill himself and his family.”
“No. Exactly. I think if he did decide to end it all, it was a spur of the moment thing. I cannot believe that he planned it.”?
“You said he brightened up when he talked about the barge. I understand he was being treated for depression.”?
“He was. He'd been under the doctor for a couple of months. Ted encouraged him to go when he was feeling down.”?
“As far as you know, Kelly, would they have lost everything as a result of the difficulties Ben was in?”
“Pretty much. The barge was his dream way out.”
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