Murder at the Old Abbey

by Pippa McCathie

  “We’ve been in discussion – I suppose you could call it that – for some time trying to sort out which one is correct. I offered to pay a nominal sum for the disputed land, but the Mansells, well Mansell senior, would have none of it. The son’s a more reasonable fellow, but his wife definitely isn’t. She persists in allowing her horses to graze that land and even lets them encroach on parts of my estate, and no protest from me has made any difference.”

  Matt began to wonder when he would get to the point, but he didn’t have long to wait.

  “A couple of weeks ago, actually more like three weeks I think, she’d allowed that stallion of hers, inappropriately called Moonlight – Devil would be a more suitable name for him – the run of my top field. I wasn’t about to try to catch the damned horse, it’s a vicious beast, so I walked down to their stables to have it out with her. Anyway, there was a car parked in the yard and I recognised it; it belongs to Stewart Parker, one of the vets from Dysart & Jennings. I’ve used him myself for this old girl” – he patted the Labrador’s head – “and for some of my milkers.”

  Dilys glanced at Matt and quickly away again as Marsden went on.

  “I could hear voices from the stables office, so I made my way across the yard.” For a moment he looked a little embarrassed. “Now, I wouldn’t like you to think I was eavesdropping deliberately, but when I got close enough to hear the conversation, I realised it was rather – er – rather intimate.”

  He glanced at Dilys, but she continued to sit there, impassive.

  “Then I heard Delma Mansell say something about needing some, what were her words? ‘Some of that tranquiliser you used on him before’. She said sometimes Moonlight got out of hand, which didn’t surprise me one bit, and that she needed help to control him, particularly as her husband wouldn’t always allow her to call out the vet because of the expense. The vet agreed to let her have some, but he told her she mustn’t, on any account, let it be known that she had it; that his job would be on the line if she did. They then went back to their, um, previous activities and I made good my escape.”

  Matt was amused to see that Marsden’s face had reddened a little.

  “Nearly got caught by that aunt of theirs, Mrs Giordano, on my way out,” Marsden went on, “but I managed to escape unnoticed.”

  “Would you be willing for us to take a statement from you about this?” Matt asked.

  Marsden screwed up his face at this, but then relaxed. “Oh, very well, I suppose I must.”

  “I’ll send one of our team along to record one then,” Dilys said, speaking for the first time. “Would this afternoon be convenient, sir?”

  He looked at her as if he was seeing her for the first time and Matt had the distinct impression that he wasn’t used to dealing with women.

  “Fine, fine, I’ll be here,” Marsden said, addressing Matt.

  “Thank you, sir,” Dilys said, giving him a dazzling smile. Marsden blinked and Matt only just stopped himself from laughing.

  “Right, well, I’ll see you out.” He and the dog escorted them to the front door and stood watching as they got into the car.

  As she started up the engine, Dilys said, “When we interviewed Stewart Parker, he was adamant his affair with Delma ended some months ago. What Marsden said indicates that wasn’t true.”

  “It does. He seems to have hung around ear-wigging for some time, doesn’t he?”

  “Well,” said Dilys, with a twisted little smile, “he’s got to get his kicks somewhere hasn’t he?”

  “Dilys!”

  She grinned. “I think we send a male PC to take his statement, don’t you?”

  Matt laughed. “Definitely. I wonder if there’s a wife in the background.”

  “I believe there used to be, but she scarpered, which could explain his attitude.”

  “How the hell did you know that?”

  “Glyn Evans told me. His wife knew Mrs Marsden years ago; same WI.”

  “Your fount of local knowledge never fails to amaze me. You and Fabia between you probably know everything there is to know about everyone within a hundred-mile radius.”

  Dilys grinned. “I don’t think I can rival Fabia Havard, sir.”

  She was soon serious again. “So, do we go straight to talk to Delma Mansell? We did warn her we’d be back for a further interview. Do you think she could have been involved in both her father-in-law and her brother’s deaths? By all accounts her brother was a bully. She may have been forced to give him stuff from the Abbey to sell and it seems to me she might have had good reason to want to get rid of him.”

  “I suppose you’re right, but they’re not exactly going to welcome us with open arms. Maybe I should have left it to Alun to tell them about Cotter’s accident. Too late now. Okay, let’s go and see if she’s at home.”

  Chapter 16

  Garan felt as if the day had gone on forever. He put up a hand to his face, his nose was swollen, and he had a spectacular black eye. He’d had to fend off questions several times during the morning. He’d told Sheryl, and anyone else who’d remarked on it, that he’d tripped when he’d been carrying a beer barrel and hit his head. No way was he going to tell her the truth. He didn’t know if Sheryl had believed him, but she hadn’t persisted with her questions. With that and everything else, he was feeling hounded.

  The Mynach Arms was busy, a good deal more so than usual for a Thursday lunch-time; in fact it had been like this ever since the news of the murder enquiry had spread through the village. The locals, most of whom were aware of Garan’s connection to the Mansell family, seemed to have decided that the pub was the place they needed to be. How else would they be first with the latest news? Both Garan and Sheryl tried to avoid being drawn into conversations about what was happening up at the Abbey, but this didn’t stop the continual speculation. How was Caradoc killed? And for what reason? Who were the possible suspects? Was Rodric responsible? Never to God would they have thought that. Didn’t they think it was more likely that Delma Mansell’s brother had something to do with it?

  On and on it went and it was very difficult to remain polite to their punters at the same time as stemming the flow. No-one had suggested, yet, that Garan could have had anything to do with Caradoc’s death, but he was very much afraid someone would do so soon if he showed his anger and distaste at the bright curious eyes and the probing questions.

  “Of course, that Ted Marsden, up to Manor Farm, he never got on with old Caradoc. I wouldn’t put much past him.”

  “No, no, he’s a good enough bloke for an Englishman. He gave me some work a while back and paid well, he did.”

  “What about that other Englishman, visitor at the Abbey, he was in the pub a couple of days ago. What’s his name, Garan?”

  Appealed to direct, Garan answered, “Mike Cotter.”

  “He’s the brother of Rodric’s wife, isn’t he?”

  “Yes,” said Garan shortly.

  “I didn’t take to him one bit, and I’ll tell you for why,” said the mechanic from the garage up the road, “when he brought in that car of his…”

  Garan took himself off to the other end of the bar to avoid any further questions and Sheryl came up behind him, put her hand on his back and spoke close to his ear, “Don’t let them get to you, cariad. Hang on in there.”

  He turned and gave her a twisted smile, then winced as his bruises reacted to the movement. “I’m trying, but bloody hell, it’s hard.”

  “I know. Just smile and plead ignorance.”

  This conversation was interrupted by a commotion at the door of the public bar. Two of the regulars, who’d been muttering away to each other at a table nearby, suddenly jumped up.

  “Bella bach!” said one elderly but spry old man. “What a sight for sore eyes! Have you heard what’s been going on round here?”

  “You come to see your boy, have you?” asked his companion. “There’s trouble up to the Abbey, you know. Hey! Garan! Your mam’s here,” he shouted.

  Conver
sation stilled and every eye in the room turned towards the door. Bella, her grey flecked auburn hair flowing down her back, and her dark eyes searching, stood there in a bright patchwork jacket, enormous gold hoop earrings at her neck.

  “Dai, Fergi,” she smiled at the two old men and gave each of them a kiss on the cheek. “Behave,” she advised them, and then began to thread her way through the crowd, pulling a small overnight bag behind her, and briefly greeting a couple of others as she went.

  Garan came from behind the bar, his expression a mixture of pleasure and wariness. She wrapped him in a hug and said, “Hallo darling, it’s so good to see you. Good lord, what have you been doing to yourself?”

  “An argument with a table when I was shifting barrels,” he said, getting used to the lie now. “But Mam, why are you here? You shouldn’t have driven all that way.”

  Sheryl join them. “Bella!” There was only pleasure in her face. She put an arm round her mother-in-law and pulled her close, said quietly, “Thank you so much for coming down, we really need you.”

  The buzz of conversation round them had resumed, but several people close by were straining to hear what was said.

  “You knew she was coming?” Garan asked his wife. He didn’t sound pleased.

  “Yes. Look, let’s go around the back,” Sheryl said, taking charge. “One of the girls can look after things for a bit, and Mick will give her a hand.” She turned to a young man who was leaning on the bar, nursing a pint. “Do us a favour, Mick, come this side for a few minutes and give Ellie a hand.”

  “Sure,” he said, “no probs.”

  “Pour me a glass of red first, love,” Bella said to Sheryl.

  “Don’t worry, we’ll take a bottle with us into the back lounge,” Sheryl said. She grabbed a tray, put a bottle of red wine and three glasses on it then ushered Garan and his mother through to the back of the pub, watched by several curious customers.

  They sat down round a small table in an alcove and Sheryl poured wine into their glasses; then Bella looked at Garan, put a hand up to his cheek. “Bless you, darling, you look as if you haven’t slept for a week.”

  “Not too far from the truth, that,” Sheryl said.

  “I wish you hadn’t come,” he told his mother, then turned an accusing look on his wife. “Why did you ask her?”

  “Don’t start blaming Sheryl. Yes, she texted me, but I also had a long conversation with Fabia Havard and she gave me all the details of what’s been happening – that’s what persuaded me to drive down.”

  “He’s been wearing himself to the bone worrying,” Sheryl told her.

  “What about?”

  “What about!” Garan echoed sharply. “Mam, my father has just been murdered! The place is crawling with police. They’ve been questioning everybody, taking fingerprints, the lot. They haven’t come back again yet, but it won’t be long before they do.”

  “Of course, I know you must be worried sick about it all, and grieving, as I am. He wasn’t just your father, he was my very good friend and I loved him.” Her voice cracked on the words and she drew a deep breath to steady herself.

  “But no-one’s going to think you had anything to do with it,” she went on briskly. “That would be ridiculous.”

  Bella didn’t miss a quick glance between Garan and Sheryl. “Okay,” she said, “what are you not telling me?”

  There was a loaded silence, then Bella gave Garan a direct look and asked, “Is it to do with money?”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, why should you immediately jump to that conclusion?” Garan said defensively, but he wouldn’t meet his mother’s eyes.

  “Because I know you, my darling, and if you’ve been gambling and getting into debt again – on top of everything else –it’s enough to give anyone sleepless nights.”

  “Tell her, Garan,” Sheryl urged.

  He leant back in his chair and rubbed a hand across his mouth, then looked from his wife to his mother, his eyes agonised. “Oh Mam!” he said, letting his breath out through trembling lips, “I’ve really screwed up this time.”

  Bella’s heart sank and, in order to hide her fear, she lifted her glass to drink some wine. “Garan, love,” she said, “it doesn’t matter what you’ve done, we can sort it out. Now, tell me.”

  Slowly at first, he began to tell her about the online gambling, the poker games, the debt to Mike Cotter and his threats when Garan couldn’t pay up immediately – Mike hinting that he’d suggest to the police that Garan could be responsible for Caradoc’s death. Then he told them about the two men, tall, built like heavyweight boxers, who’d pitched up the day before. This was new to Sheryl.

  “You didn’t tell me about them. Who were they?”

  “I didn’t want to worry you.”

  “Garan! Did you get their names?”

  “No. They laughed when I asked. They said they were friends of Mike Cotter and he’d sent them to get what was owed, with interest. I told them straight, I did, to get the hell out of my pub, but they just laughed again, said they’d teach me a lesson. They looked around the pub and said what a pity it would be if it burned down. I was effing lucky the brewery van arrived. I know the blokes and they could see I was having a spot of bother, so they sort of squared up to them. I don’t think they liked being out-numbered, but before the bastards left, they promised they’d be back.”

  “You have to tell Rodric, Garan, you just have to,” Sheryl said, sounding scared.

  “And the police,” insisted his mother.

  Garan shook his head as both women listened to the rest of his story in silence: the amount of money he owed, which made Sheryl gasp, and the times that Mike had come in to threaten and wind him up. At last, he stopped talking and leant forward in his chair with his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. “Now do you see what I mean,” he said, his voice muffled, “when I say I’ve really screwed up?”

  “Yes, I do,” Bella said, then she gave him a very straight look. “And what happened this morning, with that black eye?” she asked.

  Garan didn’t reply.

  “Come on, my darling, I know you too well. What happened?”

  The seconds ticked by and at last he took a deep breath. “It was when you were at the gym, Sheryl. That bastard, Cotter, came sailing in the back door without so much as a by-your-leave, demanded that I make him a cup of coffee and fill up his bloody flask. It’s not the first time he’s done that, and he doesn’t pay. I threw the damn thing back at him.”

  “You refused?” Sheryl asked, sounding more positive for a moment.

  “I tried to, but he just told me I’d do as he asked if I knew what was good for me. I lost it a bit, tried to hit the fucker, but he swung at me first and this” – he pointed at his eye – “was the result. Then he marched behind the bar, filled the flask himself, with our best Penderyn malt, like he’s done before.”

  “And what about the coffee?” Sheryl said wearily.

  Garan gave her a sideways glance. “He said he’d give the coffee a miss, but he’d be back.”

  Bella leant forward and filled their glasses. “Okay, first things first, you’re going to get on to the police and tell them everything.”

  Garan protested but she ignored him.

  “No arguments. Sheryl and I are here to help, we’ll back you up, won’t we?”

  Sheryl nodded. She didn’t seem as sure as her mother-in-law, but she didn’t contradict her.

  “No arguments, darling,” Bella said, “you’re going to tell them all about those two shits from Swansea. Fabia told me her friend, DCI Lambert, is in charge of the investigation into Caradoc’s death and he’s a real tidy sort. Then you’ll tell them, in detail, all about Mike Cotter and what he’s been up to.”

  Garan’s shoulders sagged. He seemed to have given up protesting. Bella was about to go on, but at that moment they were interrupted. David Harris and Megan came through into the lounge, each carrying a glass. They did not, at first, notice the three in the alcove, but sat down
on a small sofa the other side of the room. David took Megan’s hand and they heard him say, “Now, tell me exactly what happened.”

  Megan, her voice quiet but still audible to the three of them. “That policeman, Chief Inspector Lambert, and the woman, I can’t remember her name, came to the Abbey and asked for Delma. Rodi thought it was yet more questioning, but it wasn’t. They’d come to tell her Mike was killed in an accident on the motorway, he–”

  On hearing this, Garan jumped up and Megan and David quickly turned to look in his direction.

  “Garan?” Megan exclaimed. “Sorry, we didn’t see you there.”

  He walked over to them. “Did you say he’s dead?”

  “Yes,” Megan told him. “They said he’d taken some drug or other and they think that’s why he crashed his car.”

  “Drug? What drug?” Sheryl asked.

  “I don’t know, but apparently it was much more than a person should take, normally. It’s awful, isn’t it?”

  “Oh my God,” Garan muttered, “I hated the bastard, but I didn’t want him dead!”

  Both Sheryl and Bella looked up at him, alarmed. “What do you mean?” Bella asked, her voice sharp.

  Garan wouldn’t look her in the eye. “Just what I said. There’s no point in pretending I liked the bloke just because he’s dead.”

  Bella continued to look up at her son as a dreadful thought began to push into her mind.

  * * *

  The day before, Matt had phoned to ask Fabia how she was getting on with the notes about the Mansells. Having agreed to do as he’d asked, she still felt a bit doubtful about it, as she’d explained to Cath.

  “It’s not that I don’t want to help him,” she’d told Cath earlier. “It’s just that I feel sort of pulled both ways.”

  “That’s hardly surprising, Fabia,” Cath had said. “You’ve known the Mansells for a long time.”

  “And I rather resent him using me.”

  “I hope you don’t mind my saying so, but that sounds a bit hypocritical.”

  “Cath!” Fabia had protested. “That’s hardly fair.”