by Cathy Ace
‘You know I understand confidentiality extremely well,’ said Betty.
‘I’d never drop you in it, Rakel,’ said Evan. He thought it an unnecessary statement, but felt it was right to say the words anyway. ‘Cause of death?’
Rakel shook her head. ‘They put finding an ID at the top of their list. I can’t imagine it would be easy to discern cause, or method, from the pile of burned bone shards they got. They might get lucky with a microscopic examination of the remains, I suppose, but only if something was used that resulted in recognizable markings on the fragments.’
‘Is Liz still on the case?’ Evan couldn’t help but ask.
Rakel shrugged. ‘I expect so, but there’s not been anything anyone could do until now, really. There was no ID, no one missing from the vicinity of the scene, and no one they’d questioned giving off an aroma of guilt, it seems. Now at least they’ve got something to work with; I dare say it’ll float back to the top of the pile pretty quickly. Isn’t that the way it goes, Evan? You should know.’
Evan sat back in his chair, his mind whirring. ‘It depends on what she and Jenkins are working on now, or if they’re even still working together at all. I don’t know. I’ve made a particular effort to not get in touch with people since I left; to not pick up the phone and suggest a friendly pint.’ He glanced at Betty to try to gauge her reaction. ‘It hasn’t been easy, but I knew I needed to make a complete break with it all.’
He leaned forward and clenched his hands on the tabletop. ‘Did they get a time of death? Or maybe a nice tight window for the crime itself?’
Rakel glanced nervously at Betty. ‘I think they got it down to no earlier than Halloween in terms of the site we saw, but I don’t know the details.’
Evan nodded to himself. ‘Halloween? And I was there on the 7th November. First on the scene.’ The fug of the evening’s beers was lifting.
‘You told me Liz got up the hill faster than you did,’ said Betty, forcing a smile, ‘so you’d have been there second.’ She winked at him.
‘At least third,’ added Gareth, surprising everyone. ‘Well, some poor pleb must have found it before you lot showed up, right?’
‘See what a clever husband I have?’ said Rakel with a chuckle. ‘You’re right, my dear, there was a community constable there to begin with, and the chap who discovered the remains in the first place, of course. So you were fourth on the scene, Evan. Fifth, if you count the dog.’
Evan decided Rakel was attempting an impish grin, and his wife wasn’t making eye contact with him at all.
He picked up his near-empty beer. ‘Alright, I give up. I wasn’t ever involved with the case in any way that counts. It was never my case. And I’m retired now. I’ve got it. Alright?’
‘Damn!’ said Betty, slapping her forehead.
Evan’s tummy flipped. ‘What’s wrong?’
Betty shook her head and stood. ‘Just a minute.’ She left the room, and its three puzzled occupants, returning a couple of minutes later with a container of ice cream in her hand. She knocked it against the back of her chair. ‘I forgot to take this out of the freezer to thaw. It’s like a brick. There’ll be a bit of a wait if you want afters.’
The spell the evening had cast upon the group had been broken; farewells, and promises to do it again very soon, were made all round.
Rakel made sure Gareth had his seatbelt properly fastened before they left, ‘He’ll be asleep before we get to the end of your road,’ she said as their car pulled away from the kerb.
Betty put the ice cream back into the freezer, and Evan managed to convince her the world wouldn’t end if they just shut the door on the front room, and left the clearing up until the next day.
‘At least let me soak the pot, Evan? The bits of chili in it will be like cement by the morning.’ He gave in to that request, believing it was best to know which battles weren’t worth fighting.
Evan wasn’t surprised he couldn’t sleep; within an hour he’d worked through what he felt should be the entire investigative plan for the Rhosddraig case, and had mentally sent subordinates scurrying to gather information from a dozen sources.
Then he lay awake, frustrated that he’d never get to see that information, to know those facts, or dig out any leads. The emotions were alien to him, and he didn’t care for them one little bit.
‘You’re not managing to get off to sleep, are you?’ said Betty in the darkness. She sounded concerned.
Evan grunted. He didn’t dare do more.
Cold air wafted under the duvet as Betty shifted onto one elbow. ‘I know you know all this, but – because I love you – I’m going to say it anyway. We have to get this out into the open, and talked about. It wasn’t your case then, Evan. And it isn’t your case now. You’re no longer a police officer. You’re no longer a detective.’
‘I know I’m not,’ he said, the words feeling like a lie in his mouth.
‘I know you know that as a fact, but I’m not convinced you’re coming to terms with what it really means. Look, if you get in touch with Liz and ask her about it, you’ll be putting her in a difficult position, because she’s not allowed to discuss an ongoing investigation with you.’
‘I know that too.’
Betty gently touched his cheek. ‘Oh cariad, I understand that you’re going to want to know what’s happening, but you’ll have to be content with being like the rest of us outsiders who follow along with whatever is made public. Please don’t let this become an obsession. An interest can become so much more, very quickly. Please, cariad, let it go. For your own good.’
Evan turned to face the dark lump beside him. ‘I’ve given a great deal of thought to the whole thing. Let’s be honest, I’ve thought about little else. I don’t mean this case. I mean the challenge of not knowing – of not being on the inside. And I admit it’s harder than I’d imagined it would be. I will come to terms with it, eventually. But it’s going to take time. And maybe longer than I thought.’
He reached out until his hand connected with Betty’s face.
‘That was my eye,’ she said, chuckling.
‘Sorry. I was trying to be gentle.’
‘I know. Night, night. Try and get some sleep.’
‘Night, love.’
Evan squeezed his eyes shut, hoping peace would come, but fearing it wouldn’t.
8th February
Sadie
It’s been horrible at school all day today; every class had a visit from the police, and we were all told we had to report any drug dealers or drug users we know. Told us it was our ‘civic duty’. God knows why they bothered. Having some sort of a clampdown, or something, I expect.
What a complete and utter waste of their time. And ours. What do they think – that we’re all going to stroll into the Head’s office and give up the names of the users and dealers we all know? They’re nuts. Try living a normal life after doing that.
The instant they showed up I recognized one of the blokes in plain clothes from when they found that thing up on our hill. Jenkins. He was the one who came over to the sixth form center and talked to us all there too. For a whole period. Lovely.
At least I won’t be held captive in school for too much longer; the 22nd July is my absolutely official last day as a schoolgirl. Then I’ll be free. But I won’t have anything to do after the middle of June, so I might not go in at all for that last bit. Why would I? Why would anyone? What would they do if you didn’t turn up after all your exams? Chuck you out?
Tidy.
A few of the girls have said they’re going to meet up on the 23rd July to burn their school ties. Sounds a bit pathetic to me. I might be working by then, anyway. If I can get a job with more pay than I can get at the pub.
Aled’s dead set on getting into Swansea Uni, and I’ve applied there too. They’ve made us both offers; we both have to get the UCAS Tariff points equivalent to two As and a B in our A levels. I think I can manage an A in English Literature, and maybe one in Film Studies too. I hope
I can manage a B in History. Aled will. In fact, he might even get three As. He’s cleverer than me. Well, not always, but most times. Sometimes he does really stupid things, but not usually when it comes to his schoolwork.
I’ve got to tell Mam she’s to expect an email from the school tonight, and that she has to reply to it. For anyone without an email contact within their family, they handed out printed letters. There weren’t a lot of those flying about, but Aled got one, ’cause his Grannie Gwen doesn’t do email. He read it aloud in the coffee room before we left school. It was all about drugs, so no surprise there. It gave a lot of online resources for parents to use when they talk to their kids about drugs. Fat lot of good that’ll do the ones who don’t even have email.
Aled said he’d give the letter to his grannie, because she has to sign something and send it back with him to prove he gave it to her, but he said he’d talk to her about it too, because he doesn’t want her to worry. I dare say it’s times like this he really misses his mother.
I’ve got to talk to Mam tonight, about my uni costs. They’ve got this new package thingy which means the government will give me enough to pay my tuition fees for the year, either as just a loan, or as a mixture of a loan and a grant. And I might get a grant for my living costs too. But it will all depend on how much the household income is. I don’t know how Mam and Nan will feel about that. Very private about money, is Nan, and she’s the one who owns and runs the pub, not Mam. Mam’s just an employee there, like me. So maybe what the pub makes doesn’t matter. Maybe it’ll only matter what Mam earns. I don’t know. It’s all so complicated. I don’t know why they make it like that. Anyway, Mam and I can go online to read about it tonight. Maybe earlier, rather than later.
I can’t believe Aled sat at the back of the bus again today. I thought he’d realize that I want to talk to him about all this drug stuff that’s come up today. The bus is full of it, of course. Everyone’s whispering, and giggling. Like I can’t hear everything they’re saying. I know all the dealers they do, it seems. Some people share the mobile numbers that keep changing all the time; in class, sometimes. It’s laughable that they think no one notices what they’re up to. Well, maybe the teachers don’t. But I do.
Nan
Nan was boiling with anger, and well within her rights to be so, she believed. She stared across the bar at the chief inspector and the sergeant, and couldn’t believe they’d said what they had.
‘You’re telling me you think people are dealing drugs here? In my pub? The pub I have run for over forty years. The pub where I myself was born and raised. My home. Do you think I’m completely twp? I’d lose my license, my income, and I’d end up having to sell my home. You’re barking up completely the wrong tree. Now get out. You’re both barred. For life.’
Liz Stanley and Ted Jenkins exchanged a look; Nan instinctively knew what they were thinking. She lifted the flap in the bar, allowing it to slam down behind her as she moved toward the couple. ‘And don’t you dare imagine I’m an old woman you can intimidate. I know my rights, and I know my business. And my clientele, too. I can bar anyone I please if they give me reason, and I’d say coming in here and as good as accusing me of running a drug ring is a very good reason indeed. I won’t stand for any of that stuff on my premises. If I so much as catch a whiff of that whacky baccy when people are smoking at my tables outside, I chuck them out and throw their drinks after them. And I bar them for life too. Don’t I, Helen? You tell them. My roof, my rules.’
Nan was delighted when her daughter backed her up with a sound, ‘Mum’s rules are well known; she stands for no messing about or horseplay, and absolutely no drugs.’
Nan reckoned DCI Jenkins knew he wasn’t going to win with her, and was delighted when he spoke to her in deferential tones.
‘I’m terribly sorry, Mrs Jones. My sergeant here used her words clumsily. What she meant to say was that we are making inquiries to gather as much information as possible from people here in Rhosddraig about local drug availability. We certainly didn’t mean to imply such business was ever conducted on your premises.’
Nan nodded twice and sat at a table. She invited the DCI and his sidekick to join her.
‘Just so long as you understand that,’ she said. ‘I’m sure you haven’t got time for a coffee, so my daughter can stay here with us, to be a witness to anything you might say. Sit, Helen.’
With her daughter at her side, and the policeman and his sergeant sitting in front of her, Nan knew she was in control. ‘So why the big interest in drugs around here all of a sudden? Our Sadie just got home from school and tells us your lot’s been there all day today, and that the Head’s sending a letter to all parents. Got some secret information and you’re hoping for a big bust, are you?’
Nan looked at Liz Stanley and added, ‘I don’t mean you’re looking for a big bust, love. It’s perfectly obvious you’d have one by now if you were ever going to get one. But you might be alright; I hear some men actually like flat-chested women. I meant a drug bust, of course. Is that what this is? Some sort of sting thing?’
‘I don’t think you quite understand what a sting operation is, Mum,’ said Helen. Nan shot her a glance to shut her up.
The Jenkins bloke spoke slowly. Nan wondered why. ‘This isn’t an operation, Mrs Jones, just a fact-finding mission. We’re always working our hardest to prevent the supply and spread of illegal narcotics, of course, and we’re just having a bit of a push in this area, at this time. Knowing your important role in this community, I thought myself and my DS should come to speak with you personally; your neighbors will be visited by our colleagues.’
Nan was pleased the man understood her rank in the local hierarchy. ‘Ask away then. What do you want to know?’
‘Simply put, do you know of anyone in the area who uses, supplies, transports or sells illegal drugs?’ said Stanley, almost politely.
Nan noticed her daughter shaking her head. ‘They’re asking me, Helen, not you, so I’ll thank you to let me answer for myself. And my answer is that I do not. As I said, I won’t have the stuff under my roof.’
‘Mum’s even averse to taking any unnecessary medications herself, aren’t you, Mum?’ said Helen. Nan thought it wise to agree, having kept her special tablets a secret from her daughter so far.
Stanley pressed the point. ‘No passing customers – not regulars, of course – who seemed out of place, maybe meeting here, then departing at different times? Random-looking encounters, where it would be easy to exchange a package for cash – that sort of thing?’
Nan said, ‘We have some “irregulars” – as I like to call them – I don’t care for very much. Friends of that Wingfield boy. They’re all turning eighteen now, so I have no reason to not serve them, but that doesn’t mean I have to like them. Look like they live on the side of the road, most of them do. Straggly hair, and jumpers that are all stretched. And the tattoos? You wouldn’t believe some of them.’
Helen added, ‘Mum, they’re young, a surfing crowd. That’s how they dress these days.’
‘Like the people begging for money, or selling the Big Issue up in Swansea? I don’t see what’s appealing about looking like they’re sleeping rough.’ Nan wasn’t convinced the way they chose to dress was normal.
‘Would they also be friends of Aled Beynon?’ asked Stanley.
‘They are,’ replied Helen, ‘though they’re not in school with Stew and Aled. I think they’re from somewhere in the West Country; they tend to come for the weekend, and stay at the Wingfields’ house. The one they rent out for holiday lets, not the one they live in.’
‘Thank you, Ms Jones,’ said Stanley.
‘I knew that too,’ snapped Nan. ‘And I also know they have late parties up at that place. I can see the lights from my bedroom. A whole wall of glass they have there, looking out along the Dragon’s Back – rebuilt it from a small barn they did. It should never have been given planning permission. Ugly as sin, it is.’
‘Is Aled due to be working
this evening?’ asked Jenkins.
‘Starts at seven, though – as you can tell – we’re not exactly rushed off our feet. It’s been hard work to keep this place afloat since the smoking ban, you know,’ said Nan, deciding to play the sympathy card. ‘I’ve worked my fingers to the bone to keep it going, because every village needs a pub. But, other than the summer months, it’s a worry, I don’t mind telling you.’
‘The village doesn’t have an off license, does it?’ asked the sergeant. ‘I expect that helps a bit. If people fancy a drink, they’ll have to come here for it.’
Nan suspected the sergeant was trying to make some sort if ill-advised point.
She wasn’t having that.
‘If people can be bothered to plan ahead they can get whatever they want to drink at home from the supermarket, easy enough. But you’re right; Alis doesn’t sell alcohol in her shop, and I don’t sell ice creams.’ Nan felt the reasoning was obvious.
‘And nothing, or no one, comes to mind, when it comes to drugs?’ pressed Jenkins.
Nan admired his persistence.
‘Absolutely not.’ She reckoned that would do it, and it seemed to work. The pair stood.
‘Might I have a word with Sadie?’ asked Stanley. ‘As her mother, you are more than welcome to be present when I speak to her, Ms Jones.’
Helen stood. ‘Of course. I’m sure she won’t mind. She’s upstairs doing her homework in the kitchen. I’ll come up with you. Will you join us, chief inspector?’
‘Thanks, I will,’ he replied.
‘I was just about to go upstairs myself, Helen, but I’ll stay here and hold the fort while you all go up and do that then, shall I?’ Nan used her pathetic voice.
‘Thanks, Mum,’ was all her daughter had to say as she led the detectives to the stairs.