DI Giles BoxSet

by Anna-Marie Morgan

  Once inside the cubicle, she spoke in a loud whisper. “Wayne?”

  “I’ve got good news for you.”

  “Go on.” Her hand shook.

  “Corporal Whyte has agreed to meet you tonight.”

  “Tonight? Where? What time?”

  “St. John’s Priory, in Chester. Seven o’clock. Go there alone.”

  “Where’s-” Too late. He was gone.

  Yvonne checked her watch. It was approaching one o’clock. She opened the internet on her mobile. The 4G signal was fading in and out but she managed to bring up Google maps and the Priory.

  A quick read informed her that St. Johns was a half-ruinous church. A solid oak coffin was set high in the wall of the Chancel ruins. One thing was for sure, she’d know when she found it. Whether she’d be able to hold her nerve in such a place would be a different matter.

  There was a knock on the cubicle door. She stuffed her mobile in her pocket.

  “Ma’am?” It was Dewi.

  She felt huge relief as she pushed open the door. “Fancy going into Chester for lunch?”

  Dewi shrugged, looking confused. “Sure.” He’d obviously been expecting to find her fuming over the lost manilla file. Truth was, she’d almost forgotten it.

  She filled him in over lunch, and they walked part of Chester wall, as tourists might. They made sure they knew exactly where St. John’s Priory was. The DI thought it best not to go too near, just in case they were being followed. At seven o’clock it would be dark.

  Dewi parked the car as close as he could. It still felt a long distance to walk in the dark. The street lights provided little reassurance.

  Yvonne pulled her long, wool coat tightly around her. Hands in her pockets. Several times, she thought she heard something behind, but turning, found nothing. No-one there. She stopped at a bench, holding tightly to the back of it. Anxiety washing over her like a fountain. Her muscles trembled from fear and cold.

  St. Johns was ahead, lit from below, the lamps aimed at the towers. Her shaking intensified as she fought the overwhelming urge to run. Dewi had said he would be no more than ten seconds away, but she couldn’t see him. So, it was little comfort.

  “Over here.”

  She almost jumped out of her skin. Her legs refused to move.

  “Over here.” A silhouetted figure in a hoodie waved to her.

  She wanted to run, sweat snaking down her back as she thought of Kate. Thought of that beautiful woman cut down in her prime. Face down in the mud.

  She concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, praying that Dewi really was only ten seconds away. Step by tentative step, she steeled herself on into the priory grounds. She gripped the can of mace in her pocket and made her way to the hooded figure.

  “Are you Inspector Giles? Yvonne Giles?”

  She couldn’t see the face of the man asking the question.

  “I am Yvonne Giles. Are you Corporal Whyte?” Her hand gripping the mace relaxed.

  “You come alone?” He flicked his head from side-to-side. Eyes darting furtively around.

  “Yes. My DS is parked a couple of streets away.”

  “Good. You wanted to talk to me. Here I am.”

  “Do you have ID on you?”

  He pulled a wallet out of his pocket, pausing to ask, “Do you?”

  The DI pulled out her warrant holder.

  “What did you want to know?” He grabbed her and pulled her further into the shadow.

  She resisted the urge to spray him in the face. “I’m investigating the murder of Kate Nilsson.”

  “I know. Wayne told me. It’s why I’m here. I wouldn’t have risked this for anyone else. Kate was a good woman. She had a good heart but she picked a battle with evil.” He shook his head.

  “Stephen, I understand you found Scotty McEwan, the night he hanged himself.”

  “I thought this was about Kate.”

  “It is. Do you know who killed her?”

  He shook his head again. “No. I wish I did, I’d-”

  “Do you have a suspicion?”

  “Not one that you’d find much use, and Scotty didn’t hang himself.”

  “What makes you so sure?”

  An owl screeched overhead. The DI ducked and grabbed Stephen’s arm. She let go, embarrassed.

  “He was bladdered. He couldn’t have done it. We’d all been drinking together. He was happy. Even if he could have done it, he wouldn’t have. Are you finally looking into this properly?”

  “I want to. I’m trying to. I want to know what you saw. Scotty’s father said you’d seen evidence of the involvement of others in his death.”

  “I did. There were tyre tracks. Probably Land Rover; at least three sets of footprints, including Scotty’s, and marks left from the feet of a folding ladder.”

  “Are you sure about that? You said you’d been drinking.”

  “I had. But finding your friend dead kind of sobers you up, doesn’t it? Anyway,” he kicked a small stone into the distance, “Tom wasn’t drunk. Tom was driving. He’d had one pint.”

  “Tom? You mean Tom Rendon?”

  “Yeah. Tom Rendon. He knew. He reported it to Callaghan and Jones. They suggested waiting till the morning, to take a look.”

  “What about Scotty? They left him there till morning?” She shook her head, mouth wide open.

  “No. No, we cut him down. Drove him to the mess. That was my idea and it was dumb. I thought I’d felt a pulse. An ambulance was called but he’d gone.” Stephen’s voice choked. “Tom tried to get officers to go back to the scene but they said we were all too drunk and the scene would be examined in the morning.”

  “Were the police called?”

  “Yes, but not until the morning.”

  “Wouldn’t ambulance staff have called the police?”

  “Well, if they did, no-one came. Police did come out, but not until the following day.”

  “And that’s when the field was found to be waterlogged.”

  “Yeah.”

  “What about Tom? They said he shot himself.”

  “I know they did. A couple of years later, just after his second tour of Afghanistan. He was found with his rifle. One shot to the head and two to the chest.”

  “An automatic rifle.”

  “Yes, but if you’re implying that was why so many bullets, I’d say again - Tom wasn’t suicidal.”

  “Was it possible for him to have gotten off two more rounds as he fell?”

  “Technically, maybe, but he wasn’t depressed.”

  “What about PTSD. Could he have been suffering after two tours of Afghanistan?”

  Stephen flicked his head left and right again. “Look, I gotta go. Start with Callaghan and Jones, and move up. Whoever washed away that evidence had power. Start there.”

  He was gone. Yvonne was once more alone and afraid. Footsteps behind had her reaching for her mace. She turned as the presence reached her shoulder, and sprayed Dewi, full face.

  “Oh my god, Dewi!” She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

  Dewi rolled around cursing and spluttering. Yvonne took a packet of tissues from her bag and tried to mop his face. He was still stumbling around, tears streaming.

  “Come on, I’ll drive you to the hospital.” Yvonne draped his arm over her shoulder and guided him back to the car. He was beginning to recover by the time she got him in.

  At the hospital, she could tell that the staff, albeit caring, thought it hilarious that a couple of cops had been involved in an accidental macing. More than one nurse smirked when she told them what happened. This had been one hell of a long day.

  The following day, DC Clayton caught up with Yvonne whilst she was going through her mail.

  “Ma’am, we’ve got an address for an army friend of Helen Reynolds. One Sam Walters. He was probably her closest friend at the time of her death. Looks like he left the army two years ago.”

  “Dai, thank you.” Yvonne put down her mail and perched on the edge of
her desk. “That’s a good find. Maybe you can come with me, when I go to see Sam. Where is he? And what’s he doing now?”

  “He lives in Llanwrtyd Wells and works in construction. He’s doing some work with the teams on the Newtown bypass. Might be easier talking to him on a lunch break than hunting him down at home.”

  The DI nodded. “Certainly easier than driving all the way to Llanwrtyd. Okay, we’ll speak to Sam, if he’ll talk to us, but I really wish we could quiz the major-general about Helen’s death. A soldier dying during a physical punishment is manslaughter in my book.”

  “Why don’t you just go ahead and ask him about it?” Dai raised his eyebrows.

  “I can’t. At least, not yet. It would be different if Kate had found concrete evidence of wrongdoing. I’d have reason enough, right there. I could quiz the lot of them. And I could legitimately link their deaths to Kate’s. Which reminds me.” Yvonne ran her hands through her hair. “I want to speak to the DCI. I’d like him to put pressure on the army SIB officers to give me a folder they took from Kate’s things.”

  “What was in the folder?” Clayton felt in his pockets for his cigarettes and pulled out a vaper.

  “You quitting?” Yvonne appeared incredulous.

  Clayton grinned. “Trying to. The wife’s trying for our third child and putting the pressure on.” He pulled a face.

  The DI laughed. “Good for her. I’m glad. You were smoking too many of those death sticks.” She winked. “Right, good work tracing Sam Walters. I’m off to find the DCI. Wish me luck.”

  She found him pouring coffee from the machine. She thought she caught a fleeting look of disappointment. Did he know what was coming?

  “Yvonne, how’s things?”

  “Coming along, sir. I wanted to talk to you about those two RMP officers, actually.”

  “Thornton and Simmonds?”

  “Yes.” She was glad the DCI had named them. She’d have been tempted to refer to them by Dewi’s irreverent nicknames. “Yes, Thornton and Simmonds. They took a folder from Kate’s room when we were going through her things.”

  “Want one?” Llewellyn asked, referring to the coffee he was now sipping.

  “Er, yes. Go on, then. As I was saying,” she sighed, “they took a manilla folder, saying it was classified material and they needed clearance from the MOD in order to sanction its handover to us.”

  “Well, it is army property, Yvonne.”

  “Well, yes, of course it is. But it’s potentially material evidence in connection with her murder.”

  The DCI raised an eyebrow. “If that is the case, then I’m sure they’ll get it back to you as quickly as possible.”

  “Yes, but probably heavily redacted. You know as well as I do that it’s likely to be so heavily redacted it’ll be utterly useless.”

  “I don’t know anything of the sort. Look, those two men seem professional to me. They’re police like us. They’ll want to get to the truth.”

  “They’re army.” Yvonne’s eyes flashed fire. “We don’t know that they won’t help cover up for the MOD.”

  “I don’t think that attitude is helpful, Yvonne. What have you got against Thornton and Simmonds?” The DCI sighed and handed her a mug.

  “I think Kate may have been murdered because she was looking into suspicious deaths at the base. If I’m right, the cover-up may go all the way to the top.”

  Yvonne was thinking of what Corporal Whyte had said in the grounds of St Johns Priory. ‘Start with Callaghan and Jones and work up’. “Sir, if there has been a cover-up, it was almost certainly orchestrated at officer level or higher. I don’t think we should rely on Dick and Harry to necessarily do the right thing.”

  “Dick and Harry?” Llewellyn raised an eyebrow at her, again.

  Yvonne coloured. She knew she’d get caught out. Damn Dewi, he always managed to get her in trouble, even when he wasn’t here.

  “Look,” he put a hand on her shoulder, “I’ll speak with Forster. See if I can get you that file back with as little redaction as possible, okay? I can’t promise I’ll succeed, but I’ll try.”

  Yvonne sipped her coffee and nodded. “I’d really appreciate that, sir. Thank you.” She took another sip. “You should make coffee more often, Chris. This is good.” She gave him a cheeky smile and turned for the door, leaving him watching her back, as she left. He took a sip of his own coffee and savoured it. She had a point, it was good.

  9

  Tasha's new home by the sea

  The sun loomed large, though the air was bitterly cold. The crisp, blue sky was peppered with the condensation trails from aircraft, as Yvonne set out on her forty-five minute journey to Aberdovey.

  She drove faster than usual. Head spinning with tidbits from the case. She was angsty because of this, and because of the guilt she felt at heading to Tasha’s new weekend home instead of her sister’s house, to see her family. She bit her lip. She’d catch up with Kim and her mum next weekend, and definitely before her mum left for Australia again.

  She could hear the gulls and smell the sea long before she caught sight of the bright sunlight bouncing off the surface ripples. The briny, fishy smell of childhood holidays and the less welcome, recent memories of blood-soaked crime scenes. She hadn’t been out this way since hunting down the priest-slayer, and she was glad this trip was a happier occasion.

  She double-checked the sat nav as she took a left towards the coast. Down a little driveway and on towards a pale-blue cottage. She knew she’d got the right place when she spotted a smiling Tasha, in oversized dungarees, wandering around the yard.

  The psychologist held a paint can in one hand and a large brush in the other. A huge grin and several paint smears covered her face. “Ta-dah,” she said, spreading her arms and turning round in front of her new home.

  Yvonne got out of her Renault and couldn’t help but smile back, running over to give her speckled friend a hug.

  “What do you think?” Tasha nodded in the direction of the house.

  “Well, it’s in a fantastic position.” Yvonne looked outwards, the sea to her right and the estuary to her left. She looked back at the house. “Is it all-wood construction?”

  “Pretty much.” Tasha nodded. “There’s some brick at the foundation but, yeah, a lot of wood.” She waved the can and brush. “And a helluva lot of painting for me.”

  “I can see that.” Yvonne laughed. “You need a few nails and screws, as well, by the look of things.”

  Tasha screwed her face up. “Paint’s peeling and a few things are wonky but, hey, it’s got heaps of potential and loads of character. And just wait till you see the size of my lounge window. A view to die for.”

  Yvonne took off her shoes, as they went inside. She needn’t have. There was sand and leaves scattered everywhere on the wooden floor. A broom leaned casually against the door-frame.

  “Want a cuppa? Or something stronger?” Tasha asked, taking the DI’s coat.

  Yvonne stood in the lounge window, looking out. Almost the whole wall had been given over to the huge, sliding-door window, and the view really was gorgeous. The lounge melted into the wooden veranda and on to the beach and sea. Gulls swooped in and around the estuary and little boats glinted on the water. Winter sunlight was everywhere. Tasha’s lounge was also surprisingly warm, which pleased the DI.

  “Come on, I’ll show you the kitchen.” Tasha grabbed her friend’s arm and they crossed the old, wooden floorboards, heading for the little galley kitchen. “The electrics need rewiring and there’s one or two small leaks in the plumbing but, aside from that, everything works.”

  “I’ll have a cuppa, please. If that’s okay.” Yvonne smiled. “I think it’s lovely, and it has oodles of charm. You got anyone coming to fix the electrics and plumbing?”

  Tasha filled the kettle. “Yes. Next week. That’s when the plumber gets here.” She pulled a face. “It’s the earliest he could do. And the electrician comes the week after that.”

  “How long you down for, t
hen?” Yvonne opened the tiny fridge to get the milk.

  “Two weeks, initially. Then I hope to be down most weekends, and for the occasional longer holiday. To be honest, I’ll be here more in the summer than in the winter after the renovation work is complete. I still have cases, on and off, in London.”

  “Well, if I get any free time, you know I’ll help you out.”

  Tasha appeared doubtful. “You? Free time? Do you do free time?”

  “Ha ha.” Yvonne accepted the hot tea with a broad smile.

  “What you working on now, anyway?” Tasha grabbed two mis-matched wooden chairs, offering one to the DI.

  Yvonne proceeded to fill Tasha in about Kate Nilsson’s murder and the deaths which Kate had been looking into.

  “Wow. Pretty complex. And I’m guessing it’s uphill work, dealing with the army authorities.

  “You could say that.” The DI sighed. “I’ve got a couple of soldiers on the inside, giving me information.” She pursed her lips. “Although sometimes, it is at godawful hours and in strange places.” She thought of St Johns Priory, and spraying Dewi with mace.

  “How far have you got?” Tasha’s eyes narrowed. “Got any lead suspects?”

  “Honestly?” Yvonne put her thumb between her teeth.

  “No. Lie to me.” Tasha giggled. “Of course, honestly.”

  “No.”

  “Oh.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Need any help?”

  “Possibly. But I don’t see how. You almost certainly wouldn’t be allowed on the base, and two military police officers keep running off with possible pieces of evidence.”

  “I see.”

  “Dick and Harry, Dewi calls them.”

  Tasha smiled. “So what are you going to do? Have you any ideas where to look?”

  “Well, I’ve been told to look at the officers and work up.”

  “I’m here, if there’s anything I can do. Even if all you need is a brainstorming session.”

  “Thank you, Tasha. I appreciate it. Right now, I’m just enjoying being away from it all. Even if only for a few hours. Get my head straight.”