by Jan Newton
‘And we’ve seen her in some states.’
‘We have. Anyway, he’d battered her right arm with the iron, she said, and he’d told her that next time it would be the brat that got it.’
‘Sean? He said that about Sean?’
Lizzie nodded. ‘Rosa said he meant it too. She was absolutely beside herself. He’d obviously broken her arm, but she didn’t dare leave Sean with him to go and get it sorted out. He told her he’d kill her if she went to hospital and told anyone about how the accident had happened.’
‘So she didn’t go?’
‘What could she do? She’d put up with it all for so long that she just got to the end of her rope that day. She asked me if I could take Sean somewhere, anywhere, and hide him.’
‘And you said you could?’
‘Well what was I supposed to do? She was absolutely terrified that Quigley would actually kill him.’
‘He wouldn’t have done that, though, would he?’
‘We didn’t think it was worth waiting to find out. Rosa brought Sean and a little suitcase round to the house, dumped both and fled back to Quigley.’
John sipped his whisky and frowned. ‘But how did you end up here? What made you think of mid Wales?’
Lizzie looked away. ‘It’s a long story. But Rosa said she would tell you where I was.’
‘So why did you leave the note, asking me not to look for you?
‘I was paranoid that Quigley would track you down if you tried to follow me. It wasn’t meant to be for more than a few days. When I didn’t hear from you, I just thought you were angry with me for getting involved with them.’ She looked up at him. ‘With your job and your reputation in the community.’ She tried out a small smile, which he returned. ‘I know it was a stupid thing to do. I should have taken Sean straight to the police, and Rosa too.’
John gazed into what was left of the amber liquid in his glass and considered. ‘And it would have been her word against his, all of it.’
‘That’s what she said. When she went to report him over the poor dog, they said there was nothing they could do. Quigley found out and broke two of her ribs.’
‘You could have told me.’
‘And then you’d have been in the same mess I’m in now, frightened to death of Quigley and still desperately worried about Sean. Except that maybe Rosa might not have ended up with a broken arm that day I left.’
‘You can’t blame yourself for that.’
‘Can’t I? I should have stopped him, stood up to him and protected her.’
‘You did what you thought was right. I can see that.’ John put the glass down on the small table and went to sit beside Lizzie on the bed. ‘Was it Quigley who killed her?’
Lizzie nodded and the tears started again. ‘Who else would it have been? That poor girl. How she ended up with him, God knows. She deserved so much better.’ Lizzie gulped.
‘She could have walked away from him herself though, couldn’t she? She had family not too far away, didn’t she?’
‘Are you saying I was wrong to take Sean away from that animal?’ Lizzie’s voice rose to dangerously shrill levels. The last thing Slaithwaite wanted now was to alert other guests or the nosy receptionist.
‘It’s all right, Lizzie. Let’s just think about this. Where is Sean now?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You don’t think he’s with Quigley?’
Lizzie shook her head. ‘He’s not with Quigley.’
‘How can you be sure of that?’
‘He just can’t be.’ Lizzie’s chin quivered ominously and John backed off immediately.
‘It’s all right, I’m sure you’re right. But you’re absolutely sure that Sean’s safe?’
Lizzie nodded.
‘You don’t want to tell me where he is?’
‘No. There’s no need for you to know where he is.’
‘So you don’t trust me?’
‘Of course I trust you.’
‘Well it doesn’t feel that way, Lizzie. Not from where I’m sitting.’
‘Then I’m sorry, but it’s safer for you if you don’t know anything about it.’
‘Quigley isn’t going to know that you’ve not told me though, is he?’ John stood up. ‘I’m in it up to my neck now, aren’t I?’ He walked over to the mini bar and opened the door, peered inside and found no more whisky. He closed the door and walked back to the bed. ‘But you’re going to tell the police everything in the morning, aren’t you?’
Lizzie neither spoke nor moved a muscle, just sat, staring at the swirls of pattern on the carpet.
‘I need another drink. And you look as though you’ve not eaten properly for weeks.’ John crouched down to look at her face. ‘Come on, Lizzie, let’s go and find the restaurant.’
Lizzie stood up. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, in a voice hardly more than a whisper. ‘I’m so sorry.’
John held onto her so tightly that she gasped. ‘I thought I’d lost you. We can work this out, Lizzie; whatever happens, we’ll work it out together.’ He held her at arms’ length and examined her face. ‘I promise you, everything will be all right.’
Lizzie Slaithwaite clung to her husband with every ounce of strength she could muster and wept as she never had before.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Day Seven
It was still dark when Julie woke, but by the time she had fed the cat, dressed and swallowed a cup of coffee, the sky was turning pink and the pine trees on the hill were a jet-black serrated line against the wisps of colour. Despite the promise of another hot and sunny day, there was still a chill in the air, and Julie zipped up her jacket as she closed the door and stepped out onto the drive. She thrust her hands into her pockets and set off up the lane.
Lizzie was going to be interesting, later on. That poor husband of hers looked like a small and insistent dog who had been kicked very hard, and she wasn’t going to be a pushover herself, despite the tears. Julie kicked at a loose stone and sent it skittering into the grass verge. What was she doing up there in that cottage? Was there someone else up there with her, if so who? And where had they gone?
The black and white horse was still asleep, but he stirred when he heard her voice, anticipating a breakfast of carrot, if he was lucky. He was. He crunched his way through a carrot the size of Julie’s wrist and snorted, spraying her face with a damp mist.
‘Oi, Cam, you great dollop, there’s no need for that.’ Julie stroked his nose. ‘Someone ought to teach you a few table manners.’
‘Well, you could do that yourself, the offer’s still there,’ came a voice from behind her. ‘When you’ve finished faffing about up the Elan Valley, we’re going out for a ride.’
Julie turned and saw Menna, grinning like a Cheshire cat.
‘You’re turning into an early bird. It must be the country air,’ Menna said.
‘It’s more like too much stuff whirling around my tiny brain.’ Julie laughed. ‘Couldn’t you sleep either?’
‘Gwyn likes to get up with the sun. The theory is that we go to bed early and get up early, but it never quite works like that. It comes from his days up at his parents’ place. No electricity see, and his dad was a tight old bugger. He hated running the generator, so they went to bed when it went dark.’
‘Bet that was fun in December.’
‘It was never what I’d call fun up there. It’s a wonder Gwyn ever got the hang of electricity and the telly.’
Julie laughed. ‘I just can’t imagine life without lights, especially not here. I’ve never been anywhere so dark in my life.’
‘You’re not wrong there. They have a saying in Welsh, fel bol buwch. As black as a cow’s stomach. That says it all.’
‘There are some delightful sayings in Welsh, not. It sounds so poetic and then you get the translation.’
‘How are you doing with the poor girl on the Monks’ Trod?’
‘Don’t ask.’
‘That good?’ Menna laughed. ‘Well, I’ll be roun
d once it’s all solved. You’ve put off taking this lad out for too long already.’
‘I might hold you to that.’ Julie smiled, but as she turned to set off back down the lane, the smile faded. What had happened to Rosa? Who knew she was staying at the B&B in Llandrindod? Was it just chance she was there? She stopped walking. What had the manager at the Met said? Had Rosa been looking for any B&B, or was she actually looking for that one, for Mrs Pritchard? Or Mr Pritchard, for that matter. She smiled at the thought of Rosa and the upright Mr Pritchard being an item but the smile drained from her face almost immediately. What if James Pritchard was involved in this, somehow? Was that why he had gone missing? The timing wasn’t exact, but it might fit. She started to walk, then jog in her rush to get home.
*
Adam was wheeling his bike down the drive when she got back.
‘I wondered where you were.’
‘You know me, case-related insomnia.’
‘And has the horse come up with anything useful?’
‘More than you know. Do you want breakfast?’
‘I’m going to go for a quick spin round the block. I’ve got to be in early this morning. Lots of end of term shenanigans to sort out.’ Adam clicked a cleat into his pedal. ‘Will you have gone when I get back?’
Julie nodded. ‘I think it has the makings of one of those days. I’ll let you know if I’m going to be late.’
‘Have fun.’ It took less than half a minute for Adam to disappear round the bend and into the folds of the hill.
*
Swift was in reception as Julie arrived at work.
‘You’re early, Sir.’
‘You too, Julie, but you’ve still missed the Slaithwaites.’ He waved several pieces of paper full of neat, handwritten notes. ‘We’ve arranged that they’ll come back later on, once we’ve had a chance to read this lot. Mrs Slaithwaite is nothing if not reticent.’
‘Oh fabulous, just what we need. Why is she being difficult, do you think? Do you think she had anything to do with Rosa’s death?’
Swift shook his head. ‘Unlikely, I’d have said. But I’d love to know who else might have been involved.’
‘I might just be able to help you there. Can I go back and see Mrs Pritchard in Llandrindod this morning?’
‘You don’t think she’s involved?’
‘No, but I think the errant Mr Pritchard might be able to tell us a thing or two though and I have a feeling he might just have been in touch.’ Julie waved at Brian Hughes and followed Swift through the doors and down the corridor. ‘Shall I take Morgan with me?’ Swift hesitated and she knew he was itching to join her himself. ‘We need to do a bit of bonding, Sir, I think he’s in danger of getting up to his old tricks where I’m concerned.’
Swift nodded. ‘He does seem a bit out of sorts, just lately. Do you think a trip out with you will help?’
‘Well it might help us to talk a bit more.’
‘Point taken.’ Swift laughed. ‘I’m not very good at sitting in the office. But make sure you’re back by half eleven. I want you in on the Lizzie Slaithwaite interview. You can get her on side, you being a woman and a northerner at that.’
‘I think I’ll take that as a compliment, Sir.’
*
If Morgan Evans was pleased at being allowed out of the office again, he was hiding it extremely well. It took until they were passing the primary school in Llanelwedd before Julie managed to illicit more than a grunt in response to her cheery questioning.
‘How’s the revision for your exam coming on?’
Morgan hesitated, but finally took it in the spirit in which it was meant. He grimaced. ‘Oh God, Sarge, how do you remember it all? It goes straight through and out the other side, with me, it does. Nothing of it sticks at all.’
‘How are you revising? Have you got a plan?’
‘Nothing so organised. I just keep looking and looking at it.’
Julie glanced across at him. He did seem genuinely concerned.
‘Well I can never remember anything unless I write it down. I had packets and packets of those little coloured cards, one colour for each major subject. If I could remember what colour card it was likely to be written on, it made it easier to recall the facts.’
Morgan laughed. ‘Has anyone ever told you, you’re really weird, Sarge?’
‘Only all the time. Helen, the DC I used to work with in Manchester, she thought I was totally bonkers. I didn’t even tell her about the flip chart paper in strategic places in the flat.’
‘I get the feeling this is going to be a little bit scary. What did you do with that?’
‘I had three sheets for each colour of card and I wrote everything from the cards on the flip chart paper as bullet points, in tiny writing, so the three huge pieces of paper had everything I had to know about that subject that was also on the little cards I could take out with me.’ Julie was aware that Morgan was staring at her with his mouth open.
‘How long did it take you to do all that, do you think?’
‘In total? Hours and hours. And then Adam would fire questions at me from all over the flat too. Evidence and Procedure from the living room, Crime from the kitchen…’
‘Isn’t there an easier way of doing it?’
‘You could probably do a lot less than I did, but passing the exam isn’t really the point, is it?’
‘Isn’t it?’
‘It’s having all that information in your head, knowing as much as you can.’
Morgan sighed. ‘You really are a perfectionist. I bet you buy the new editions of the manuals every year.’ He laughed at his own joke.
‘Actually, Morgan, I do.’
‘God, Julie, I wasn’t serious.’ Morgan shook his head. ‘Your old partner might have been right.’
‘Helen is right about a lot of things, Morgan. Trust me.’
*
The manager at the Metropole was absolutely definite. Rosa hadn’t asked for Mrs Pritchard by name, or the name of the B&B. It had definitely been at his suggestion that she had gone to Bryn Awel. He’d only mentioned it to her because he thought Mrs Pritchard might do Rosa a cheaper deal, given the circumstances. Thank goodness for people with wonderful memories, thought Julie, even if it did blow a huge hole in her theory. Or did it? They left Julie’s car in the hotel car park and walked from there to the row of impressive houses where Rosa had stayed.
Mrs Pritchard seemed different this time. She still wore the pristine uniform of lambs’ wool turtleneck and pearls, but today she looked completely exhausted. Her eyes, above pale grey circles, seemed deeper set and less alert. Running a B&B must have been harder work than she’d thought. Julie introduced Morgan Evans.
‘What can I do for you, Sergeant?’ Mrs Pritchard made no move to let them into the tasteful grey and cream hallway.
‘I’ve just a couple more questions about your husband’s disappearance, if you wouldn’t mind.’
‘I don’t know any more than I told you last time. I don’t know what more I can add.’
‘Were you getting on well before he left?’
‘Well,’ Mrs Pritchard looked down at the toes of her shoes, ‘James was tired. Things at work were getting on top of him, he said.’
‘But you were happy enough at home?’
‘We were happy, yes. Or he was.’
‘And you weren’t so happy, perhaps?’ Julie cringed at Morgan’s tone, but Mrs Pritchard appeared not to have noticed. She shook her head.
‘Who knows what that even means, Constable?’
‘And you’re absolutely positive you’d never seen Rosa before, either here in Llandrindod or anywhere else in the area?’ Julie asked.
‘Totally sure.’
The door behind her opened slightly, and despite Mrs Pritchard’s desperate attempt to pull it shut, the face of a small boy appeared in the gap. The boy’s skin was horribly pale, his eyes dark and doe-like above the prominent cheekbones. Julie almost gasped out loud.
‘He’s a
guest,’ Mrs Pritchard said, ushering the child back into the hall and closing the door behind her. ‘His grandfather can’t keep up with him.’
‘Is he all right?’ Julie asked.
‘I’m sure he’s fine,’ Mrs Pritchard smiled.
‘Quite,’ said Morgan.
‘Is there anything else I can help you with, Sergeant?’
‘Not for the moment,’ Julie said. ‘Thank you for your time.’
Morgan and Julie walked down the path and onto the pavement. Mrs Pritchard was still standing on the doorstep, watching them go.
‘That all seems fairly plausible, Sarge.’
‘I’m not so sure. Did you think she was desperate to get the child out of our way?’