Murder at the Old Abbey

by Pippa McCathie

  With slow deliberation, Nonna ladled out bowls of spaghetti and passed them round. “Get the wine opened, Rodi,” she said. “Delma, would you fetch some glasses? We don’t want the food to get cold, and there’s no point in going over it all this evening, so calm down and eat.”

  The habit of obedience to Nonna’s wishes asserted itself. Rodric fetched a corkscrew and Megan picked up her spoon and fork and began to push her food back and forth in her bowl. With a resentful glare at Nonna, Delma flounced across the room and fetched four wine glasses. She slapped them down on the table but didn’t hand them out. That was as far as she’d go when it came to taking orders from Nonna.

  “Look, Rodi,” Delma said, “I think, as your wife, I should be there. It’s as much my business as anyone else’s. I need to know what’s going to happen to the stables, and what he’s done about all the valuables. What’s more, we must remember that the production company will be here in a matter of weeks. We’ve got to get all that sorted.”

  Rodric was incredulous. “Do you really think we’re going ahead with that now?”

  “We have to. You’ve signed the contract. And we have to have that money.”

  “Well, there’s nothing we can do about it until I hear what John has to say.”

  “Rodi! You don’t understand. All this uncertainty is killing me.”

  “It’s not much fun for the rest of us,” Rodi snapped. “Father died two days ago, for Christ’s sake, so you’ll just have to have a little patience. Is that too much to ask?”

  Delma glared at him resentfully, then backed down. “Alright. But I still want to come with you tomorrow.”

  “But what about me?” Megan said, her voice full of tears. “He wasn’t your father, Delma, and you didn’t much like him anyway.” Tears started to overflow and crawl down her cheeks.

  “Megan, bach, stop crying and eat,” Nonna said, handing her a tissue. “Delma, please let Rodi do things the way he thinks is best. Haven’t we enough grief in this house without quarrelling?”

  They all subsided, and the rest of the meal was eaten in heavy silence. Immediately it was over, the three younger family members left Nonna to clear away, unaware of the look on her face as she watched them go.

  * * *

  At the Mynach Arms, closing time had come and gone. Garan locked up and made his way upstairs, saying he was going to look at some accounts before going to bed. Sheryl wiped down the bar and all the tables, emptied the dishwasher and wrapped cutlery in napkins ready for tomorrow’s lunch-time trade. With a quick glance round, she turned off all the lights and followed him slowly up the ancient stairs, avoiding the treads she knew would creak. Instead of making her way to their bedroom, she went into the tiny room above the front door that served as an office. There was barely enough space for more than a desk, a couple of chairs and a filing cabinet, and here she found Garan, sitting in front of his computer, his elbows on the desk and his chin resting on his hands.

  Her heart sank as she came up quietly behind him and placed a hand on his shoulder. He jumped and grabbed the mouse, clicked the file closed, but not quickly enough.

  “Oh, Garan, not again.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Don’t treat me like an idiot. How much is it this time?”

  “I don’t know what–”

  “Don’t give me that! I thought we’d agreed,” she sighed. “After that talk with your Mam you promised both of us you’d contact those Gamblers Anonymous people, and now I find you back on the net, gambling away another load.”

  He looked up at her, fear in his eyes. “You don’t understand. He’s been at me again. He says if I don’t pay up soon, he’s going to get some of his pals to ‘come and visit’ – that’s how he put it, said they knew ways of disposing of bodies. I thought if I just had a go, like, I could make enough to pay him off.”

  “How’s losing yet more money going to help?” Sheryl asked despairingly.

  “No, Sheryl,” he said, grabbing her by the wrist. “I could win big on this. I really feel lucky tonight.”

  “Crap!” she said, wrenching her wrist out of his grasp. “Don’t give me that. You lose a pile to Mike Cotter in that poker game, then you think you’re going to solve it by going online and losing another pile to those internet sharks? God give me strength.”

  Garan wouldn’t meet her eyes. He looked like a small boy who’d been caught out stealing, but this was so much more serious than any kid’s prank, this could threaten their whole livelihood and, if Mike carried out his threats, Garan’s life. Sheryl had no illusions about the man, he had some extremely unpleasant associates.

  She crouched down by his chair. “Garan, listen to me, you know it doesn’t work like that, you never win. We cannot afford for you to run up any more debts. And now Caradoc is gone, we’ve not even got him to watch our backs.”

  “But he said he’d make sure I was okay, he promised me and Mam. So maybe he’s left me – us – enough to clear the debts.”

  “If you think that, why the hell are you back in front of the computer pouring more money down the drain?” She was shouting now.

  He had no answer to that.

  She got up, feeling an enormous weariness deep down in her body. “What’s the use? I’m going to bed.” But she turned at the door. “But I warn you, Garan, if you don’t stop this, I’m leaving, do you understand? And then you won’t have just lost a father, you’ll have lost a wife as well.”

  Chapter 9

  “Why did they come so early?” Delma wailed. “Why do they want to talk to Mike?”

  Delma, Rodric and Nonna were in the kitchen at the Abbey. It was a quarter past seven in the morning and they were all still in dressing gowns and slippers, all bleary eyed.

  “I don’t know, they said it was just routine,” Rodric told her, rubbing at his eyes. “But they were pretty firm about it. I think Mike did the right thing in agreeing to go with them.”

  “And they were clear they weren’t arresting him for anything, Delma, just helping with their enquiries,” Nonna said, sounding as if she rather relished the phrase.

  “Helping with their enquiries! That’s tantamount to being arrested.”

  “Try not to worry. I’ll make some tea.”

  Delma ignored her as she gripped her husband’s arm. “We must get hold of John Meredith, Rodi, get him to go and demand to be there when they question Mike.”

  “I’m sure that’d be premature. He’ll probably be back in no time.”

  “How can you both be so calm?” Delma wailed.

  “Delma, panicking isn’t going to help. Haven’t we enough to cope with without you losing it?” Rodric said, then he relented and put his arm round her shoulders. “Look, I’ll mention it to John when I see him. Just drink your tea and try to calm down.”

  “Oh God, this is so awful.” Delma sat down heavily on a kitchen chair and put her head in her hands. “I can’t bear it.”

  “I think we all feel like that, Delma,” Nonna said, with little sympathy. “Now, make yourself useful, take this mug of tea up to Megan.”

  “Where is Megan?” Rodric asked.

  “Still in bed,” said Nonna. “I made her take a sleeping tablet last night, that’s probably why she didn’t wake when the police came.”

  “I’ll take her tea up,” Rodric said, with a wary glance at his wife, “I’ve got to have a shower and get dressed, and I’d like to have a word with her before I get going.”

  He left the room and the two women sat on in silence, the atmosphere full of tension and resentment.

  * * *

  Dave Parry had put Mike Cotter in an interview room to cool his heels. He went up to Matt’s office where his boss was drinking an extremely strong cup of coffee and chewing his way through a bacon sandwich.

  “I could do with one of those,” he said, “but my wife would kill me.”

  “If I had a wife, she’d probably say the same,” Matt said as he looked up, then asked, “Where have you p
ut Cotter?”

  “I’ve stashed him in room two.”

  “And how did PC Gooding manage this morning? No unpleasantness?”

  “It all went fine. Obviously, Cotter wasn’t particularly pleased to see us at that time of the morning, nor was the rest of the family, but having a woman PC there, well, I have to admit it helped – sort of calmed things down.”

  “There you are then, Dave, you’re learning,” Matt said, with a grin. “Right, let’s get going on this Cotter bloke.”

  Matt collected Dilys on the way downstairs. They’d talked about their tactics earlier, but they were so used to working together, little planning was needed.

  Interview room two was on the ground floor. A window, blinds half drawn, looked out on to the station car park, and the walls, painted a dull blue, were bare except for a large map of the Newport area on the one facing the window. A table occupied the centre of the room, two plain office chairs faced one side, and on the opposite side Mike Cotter was slouched in another. His arms were folded across his powerful chest. He glared at them as they came in but said nothing.

  “Good morning, Mr Cotter,” Matt said.

  Dilys put a file and a laptop down on the table then set up the recording of the interview. Once that was done, Matt went on. “Thank you for agreeing to come in and speak to us. I thought it would be best to ask you to the station, given the circumstances.”

  “What circumstances?” Cotter demanded.

  Matt raised his eyebrows a little. “The death of your sister’s father-in-law?”

  “I see. Are you suggesting I had anything to do with that?”

  Matt was surprised. Did this man know there were doubts about Mansell’s death?

  “What makes you think anyone did?”

  “I don’t, but I know what you lot are like. If you can pin something on a chap you will.”

  Matt ignored this jibe. “That isn’t what we want to talk to you about,” he said calmly. “It’s something else entirely.”

  Cotter’s expression didn’t change. “Well, go ahead then.”

  Matt pulled the folder towards him. “I believe you’re normally resident in South London.” He opened the folder and glanced at the first sheet of paper. “In Stratford East, 21 Sandown Road; is that correct?”

  All he got in response was a curt nod.

  “And I have here information on your police record.”

  “My record? What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Two cases of being caught speeding, one of driving without due care, one of threatening behaviour but that wasn’t proved, and two of being suspected of handling stolen goods, but they weren’t proved either. You’ve been very lucky.”

  “Lucky doesn’t come into it. You lot just got it wrong.”

  Matt looked across at him and decided to change tack. “What’s the purpose of your visit to South Wales?”

  “I would have thought that was obvious? I’m visiting my sister, that’s allowed, isn’t it?”

  “Of course. It’s just that you’ve been doing quite a lot of travelling about since you got here, particularly to Swansea. Can you tell me what took you down there?”

  Cotter uncrossed his arms and thrust his hands into his trouser pockets. There was a wariness in his eyes now, but he still sat back in his chair, apparently relaxed. “You’ve been following me around then?” he said with a sneer.

  Matt didn’t reply to this, just let the silence drag out.

  After a moment, Cotter went on. “I have some contacts in Swansea and I thought, while I’m in the area, I’d do a little business. I’m not someone who can sit around doing nothing if a business opportunity presents itself.”

  “And what line of business is that?” Dilys asked.

  So far Cotter hadn’t acknowledged her presence, but at this he looked slowly round. A slight smirk on his lips, he looked her in the eye then, with great deliberation, his eyes went downwards and lingered. Dilys had an urge to cross her arms over her chest protectively, but forced herself not to, just waited for his answer.

  “Import, export, I suppose you’d call it. I’m a dealer, antiques and valuables, and I also do a spot of wine importing, mainly from Bulgaria and other East European countries. Very popular, their wines are, and not too pricey.”

  “So, these contacts you have in Swansea,” Matt said, “can you tell us who they are?”

  “I’m not sure that’s appropriate.”

  “Why?” Dilys’s tone was sharp.

  “Data protection, commercial confidentiality,” he said, sounding very sure of himself.

  Matt decided it was time to push a little harder. He turned to his file once again and said, “Perhaps we can help you out there.” He turned over a few pieces of paper, taking his time about it, and finally selected a photo, swivelled it round and pushed it across the table. “Could you take a look at this?”

  Cotter frowned and picked it up, looked at the photo and then slapped it back down on the table.

  He looked up at Matt, his expression unreadable. “When was this taken?”

  “I’m asking the questions,” Matt said firmly. “Do you recognise the people in that photograph?”

  “Not much point in my denying it since I’m in there too. How the hell did you get that?”

  Matt ignored this question. “So, tell me who they are?”

  “Some people I met recently. I had an introduction from a contact of mine in London. Can’t say I know them that well, but since I was going to be visiting my sister, my mate suggested I should look them up.”

  Matt glanced at Dilys, she took the hint. “And who is this mate?” she asked.

  “Just someone who’s in the same line of business as me,” he replied, but he watched with narrowed eyes as Matt opened up the laptop and clicked away at the keyboard.

  “This one here,” Dilys pointed at one of the men in the photograph, “is a petty criminal, a Swansea local, called Wayne Shuttleworth. The other is in the same line of business,” she echoed his phrase deliberately, “one Nigel Rees, he’s been inside for burglary, a spot of GBH, and what’s more, both are members of an organisation we’ve got our eye on called Milwyr Dragon Cymru.”

  Cotter sneered, but he wasn’t so sure of himself now. “I’m not a great one for your weird language. What does that translate as when it’s at home?”

  “Welsh Dragon Soldiers,” Dilys told him calmly, “but soldiers they are not. They’re a group of would-be Nazis with a very dubious record of fraud, extortion and incitement to violence. You name it, if it’s against the law, they’ve probably tried it.”

  “We understand that you have sympathies with their political ambitions,” said Matt, “that you offered to put money into their campaign funds?”

  “You what? How’d you get that idea?” He sounded scornful, but it was obvious he was beginning to get rattled.

  Matt turned the laptop round and increased the volume. The sound was a little muffled, but Cotter could clearly be heard talking about the access he might have to some valuables through his sister, telling them that he’d probably be able to make a few thousand, which he could donate to what he called their ‘fighting fund’. Then there was mention of his Bulgarian contacts and how useful they could be, that they might be a source of funds as well, ending with something about bringing in some tasty toms, and a lot of lewd laughter.

  “How did you get that?” He thrust himself forward in his chair. “This is fucking entrapment.”

  “Come off it, Cotter,” Matt interrupted. “You know the score. If we suspect an organisation of planning criminal activity, we have every right to monitor that organisation, which we’ve done. Now, let’s pick this apart. What are these valuables you’re thinking of selling?”

  At first Matt thought he wasn’t going to answer, then Cotter waved a casual hand and said, “Some odds and ends of jewellery, bits my sister doesn’t want.”

  “And she’d just give them to you? She’d not expect to be given the money i
f you sell them?” Dilys asked scornfully.

  “She’s very fond of me, my sister. It may be hard for someone like you to understand, but in the Cotter family we look after each other.”

  “There’s looking after,” Dilys said, “and there’s demanding money with menaces. Is that what you did? Threaten her?”

  A flash of pure anger lit his eyes and his hand jerked on the table, as if he’d only just stopped himself from lashing out.

  “Why don’t you ask her? She’ll bear me out.”

  “I expect she will, but yes, we will be having a word with her,” Matt said smoothly. “And what about these Bulgarian friends of yours? You were talking about wine earlier on. Are they wine merchants? Vintners?”

  “They deal in wine, yes, amongst other things.” He seemed more at ease now. “They’re based on the Struma River, very good area for wine, as good as parts of Burgundy in my opinion, and there’s also a Thracian Merlot I’ve brought in; well worth trying.”

  “And they have no connection with the Bulgarian National Front?” Matt asked.

  Tom Watkins, who’d done his homework, had suggested this was a name that might get results. It was a shot in the dark, but the reaction was useful. Cotter didn’t answer but he wouldn’t look Matt in the eye and his jaw clenched. But a moment later he was defiant. “No idea. Never heard of them.”

  “You’re sure about that?”

  “Yes,” he said, thrusting out his chin as he continued to glare defiantly at Matt.

  They kept going for a while but couldn’t get anything more out of him and, not long after, they wound up the interview. They warned Cotter not to leave the area and told him they’d probably want to speak to him again, then let him go.

  Back in Matt’s office, Dilys said, “There’s one thing we didn’t pick him up on, sir.”

  “I wonder if you’re thinking of the same thing I am,” Matt said.

  “That bit about some ‘tasty toms’, looks as if people trafficking might be another of their activities.”

  “That’s what I thought. I wouldn’t put it past them,” Matt said, sounding disgusted. “I’d love to bang him up, along with his grubby friends.”