A Killer's Christmas in Wales

by Elizabeth J Duncan

  “Right,” said Victoria. “And thanks again for the flowers. They’re lovely. I’ll take them upstairs.” As the photocopier resumed its printing job, she tossed a couple of wrinkled bits of paper into the recycling box. “Did you get in touch with Gwennie? Have you asked her to do the cooking for Christmas yet?”

  “Yikes, thanks for the reminder. I’ll call her now.”

  A few moments later she put down the phone in her office. Gwennie had cheerfully agreed to do all the cooking for Penny’s Christmas lunch and, indeed, had said she welcomed the opportunity to get away from her bossy, controlling sister’s home for a few hours. Gwennie had said she would bring Penny a shopping list of everything she must get in for the meal, and she, Gwennie, would take care of the rest. Oh, and there was just one other thing. Would Penny mind if she brought Trixxi? Penny had assured her Trixxi, an adorable black Lab, would be most welcome.

  Gwennie had worked for many years as housekeeper to the Gruffydd family, owners of the charming Ty Brith Hall, situated high above Llanelen with spectacular views over the valley to the hills beyond. But with the murder earlier in the year of Emyr Gruffydd’s posh bride, and the death soon after of his father, Emyr was now spending much of his time at the family’s estate in Cornwall. Ty Brith Hall, the family home in North Wales, remained silent and shuttered. Gwennie, who adored Trixxi, was happy to look after her, especially as this meant living in at the Hall as her house-proud sister would not allow an animal in her tidy home in Llanelen.

  Satisfied that most of her Christmas arrangements were taken care of, Penny set off for the short walk home. On the way, her thoughts turned to her visit to Brian Kenley’s home. Was it odd that he was leaving for Yorkshire? Not really. A man living alone would naturally seek out his family at Christmas, and the pictures on the bookshelves, probably taken by Brian himself, indicated a strong family bond. But something about the way he had responded to her giving him the replacement plate began to bother her. Something was not quite right; his behavior had been odd. Something was missing, but she couldn’t put her finger on what exactly it was. Except, maybe, he had seemed uninterested. Detached. And yet he’d seemed quite upset when the daffodil plate had got broken.

  Deep in thought, she approached the darkened charity shop and paused for a moment to study the window display. It was filled with the best the shop had on offer, but everything in it, from a small milk jug to a souvenir bell marking the wedding of Prince Charles and Lady Diana Spencer, was a castoff, no longer wanted or needed. She liked the idea that people could donate unwanted articles to help fund a good cause and that everything in the window had been kept out of the landfill. As she turned to go, a small artificial Christmas tree, tilted a little to one side, caught her attention. Its little red and green lights winked cheerfully on and off, illuminating its small ornaments. Her eyes moved upward, expecting to see an angel at the top. But, instead, she saw what looked like a six-point snowflake and as her heart began to beat faster, she realized with a flush of joy that she was looking at her snowflake brooch. She tried the door, but it was locked, and the sign listing the shop’s opening and closing hours indicated it closed at four on Saturdays. She banged on the door, hoping one of the women who ran the shop might still be on the premises, but when no one came to see who was knocking, she accepted that the shop was empty.

  She fumbled about in her bag for her mobile and was disappointed to get Detective Inspector Gareth Davies’ voice mail.

  “I think I’ve just spotted my brooch,” she said. “Call me.”

  A few minutes later she let herself into her cottage and once again, finding nothing in the refrigerator that looked as if it might make a decent dinner, pulled a ready-made meal out of the freezer, telling herself as it heated in the microwave that she really needed to do a better job of getting in proper food.

  After looking over a few documents Victoria had asked her to check, she switched on the television and waited for the news. At the sight of a familiar face on the first news clip leading off the broadcast, she set down her mug and leaned forward.

  Wearing a dark overcoat and standing outside the floodlit walls of Conwy Castle, Detective Inspector Gareth Davies conveyed sincerity and concern as he spoke directly into the camera.

  “The case of Harry Saunders remains a complex, unexplained death inquiry,” he began. “We are appealing to anyone who may have seen or had contact with Mr. Saunders, in the period between about the first of December until his death, to come forward and speak with us. We believe he was an American and we’d like to know if he has family in the area or what business dealings might have brought him here. We are asking for swift public help in reconstructing events leading to his death.”

  Penny was impressed by his apparent ease in front of the camera and then remembered he had mentioned that all senior officers had been sent on a media training course. It’s paying off, she thought. He’s confident someone’s going to come forward, and I won’t be the least bit surprised when someone does.

  A few moments after he went off the air he rang her.

  The police will try to contact the store manager in the morning, he said, and told her to keep the evaluation handy.

  Twenty

  Of all the police stations in North Wales, the grey, two-storey pebbledash Victorian building in Conwy was Detective Chief Inspector Gareth Davies’ favourite. He liked its location overlooking Lancaster Square, the way it seemed to keep a benevolent watch on the town, and he especially liked its bright red door. If you ignored for a moment the signage on the front of the building advising visitors to ring for assistance, or if you somehow failed to notice the police cars parked alongside, you might think it the home of a prosperous businessman or solicitor.

  On Sunday afternoon Penny sat on a bench to one side of the police station and made a few simple sketches that she would work with later. From years spent drawing she intuitively understood the importance of getting the proportion and perspective absolutely right. The deepening shadows added depth and interest to her drawing, and when she was satisfied that she had captured the feel of the building, she tucked her papers and pencils into her carrier bag and rang the bell of the police station. A few moments later the door opened.

  “Penny? Hi, please come in. I’m Chris Jones, the local beat manager.”

  Penny smiled at him. “Didn’t you used to be known as the local bobby? Is it just me or…”

  Jones gave her a little sheepish grin. “I think a lot of people round here agree with you. But come through.”

  While the outside of the building suggested gentility, its interior was completely given over to police business. Penny entered a reception area whose walls were covered in posters of missing persons. High-visibility vests hung on a row of hooks and a teetering pile of bright orange traffic cones leaned into the corner. Jones led her down a long hall painted a pale, institutional yellow and past a darkened room filled with high-tech electronic equipment, including sophisticated computers and scanners. A couple of officers looked up as Penny passed and then turned their attention back to their keyboards.

  Davies was waiting for her at the end of the hall, holding his coat over his arm. He nodded his thanks at Jones, who gave Penny a friendly wave and then disappeared through a door marked COMMUNICATIONS.

  “Hello,” Davies said.

  “Hello, yourself,” Penny replied. They smiled at each other as Davies put his coat on and then reached behind him to switch off the light.

  “I am so sorry about the brooch,” Penny began, but Davies held up both hands.

  “It wasn’t your fault,” Davies said. “We knew there’d been no attempt to sell it and now we know where it is. We tried to contact the store manager today but weren’t able to reach her. We’ll be there first thing tomorrow morning.”

  He put his arm around her. “We’ll get the paperwork sorted, and you’ll have it back in a day or two. You’ll just have to sign something saying you agree to produce it if it’s needed as an exhibit i
n a court case.” Seeing her skeptical look, he repeated, “You will have it back in a day or two. I can make that happen.” They walked down the hall together, their footsteps making soft padding noises on the tiled floor.

  “Good-bye, sir,” called a voice. Davies raised his hand and a few moments later they entered the reception area. He opened the door, and Penny brushed past him into the cold evening air. Together, they walked silently down the stairs into the square.

  * * *

  They’d agreed to have dinner in a cheerful bistro that Davies liked for its good food and easy walk from the police station. Noted for its uncomplicated meals, made from fresh, local ingredients, the small restaurant was at the height of dinner service when Penny and Davies arrived. They hung up their coats and then wedged their way through the dining room to a table for two at the back of the room. After they squeezed into their chairs and accepted menus from the server, Davies raised an eyebrow and Penny smiled at him.

  “Soup!” they both said at the same time.

  The server returned and they ordered. They talked about their Christmas plans, how the spa was doing, and other small matters until their starter arrived. As they tucked into steaming bowls of a delicate mushroom soup, their talk lightly turned to murder.

  “I couldn’t really get it out of him,” Penny said. “I know Brian Kenley took photos at Conwy Castle the day Saunders died, but I wasn’t sure if he had passed them on to you. I’ve been meaning to mention that.”

  “No, he didn’t,” Davies said. “I wonder why not.” He thought for a moment and then consulted his watch. “Sorry, I hope I’m not too late to catch her. I’ll call Bethan and send her round for a word with him.” He spoke quickly to his sergeant, then, in response to a question from her, inclined his head toward Penny and asked if she remembered Kenley’s address. She told him and he repeated it back to Bethan.

  “Right,” he said, ending the call. “Let’s hope she comes up with something.” Penny held her spoon carefully and pushed it away from her through the soup. “This is delicious.”

  Davies pulled a bread roll apart. “We heard from a woman in response to the appeal last night,” he said. “Lives in Chester. Apparently she and Saunders had been courting, as she put it. She was wondering why she hadn’t heard from him lately.” He added a dab of butter to the bit of bread roll in his hand. “She was pretty upset.”

  “Harry’d been putting himself about, then,” said Penny. “Why am I not surprised?”

  “It always amazes me when intelligent women fall for a guy like that,” Davies agreed. “And they usually pay a very steep price. A smart, independent woman meets a man on holiday, a waiter, in Tangiers or Morocco or some such place. She’s at least twenty years older than he is, and you’d think she’d hear those alarm bells ringing, but-” From his pocket came the sound of a a buzzing cell phone. He glanced at it, then pointed at it and said, “Bethan. Sorry, better take it. She knows I’m with you and she’d only be ringing if it’s important.”

  He pressed the green button.

  “Yes, Bethan.”

  He listened for a moment, his gaze slowly leaving Penny’s face until he was looking at the sugar bowl. Although he displayed no emotion, Penny’s stomach began to churn and she felt her appetite disappearing.

  “Right. On our way.” He ended the call.

  “What’s happened?

  “It’s Brian Kenley. He’s dead.”

  Davies pulled a few bills out of his wallet and set them down on the table. “Sorry, love, looks like our dinner’s over.” He signaled to the waiter, who hurried over. “Sorry, but we have to leave. I’ve left enough here to cover it, I think,” he said.

  The waiter looked flustered for a moment and then, looking from one to the other, asked, “Would you like us to wrap it up for you? It’s ready and I was just about to bring it to you.”

  As Davies hesitated, Penny replied, “Yes, but hurry.” The waiter turned immediately and headed toward the kitchen while Davies called the station. He spoke to the duty sergeant and then led Penny to the front of the restaurant. As they scrambled into their coats, the waiter held out a paper takeaway bag to her.

  She smiled her thanks, and she and Davies opened the door to find a police car waiting for them. Davies helped her into the backseat and then went round and eased himself into the front passenger seat.

  “Llanelen, is it, sir?” Davies nodded and gave him Kenley’s address. “But first we’ll be dropping this lady off at her home. It’s on the way.”

  “Like hell!” came a determined voice from the backseat.

  * * *

  They arrived to find a small knot of curious neighbours clustered outside Kenley’s house, attracted by the flashing lights of Bethan’s police car. With a stern warning to Penny to stay where she was, and telling their driver to see to the gathering crowd, Davies got out of the car and walked up the path to the front door where Bethan was waiting for him.

  “Forensics are on their way and the pathologist, too,” she said.

  “How did you get in?” Davies asked.

  “I knocked, but there was no answer, so I went round the back and looked in the kitchen window. Saw him lying on the floor, so I tried the back door and it was unlocked. Went in and there he was. Looks as if he’s been hit on the head. There’s some trauma there but not a lot of blood.”

  Davies nodded slowly and tucked his hands in his pocket. “Right, well, let’s not touch anything until the scene-of-crime boys get here.” And then remembering that he had to be mindful of gender and wasn’t allowed to refer to team members as boys or men, he corrected himself. “The scene-of-crime team.”

  He looked around the kitchen and then peered down the hall.

  “Nothing seems disturbed in here.” He inclined his head toward the back of the bungalow. “Have you had a chance to look down there?”

  Bethan nodded.

  “I think that’s where our motive is.”

  A few minutes later Davies returned to the police car and opened the back door. Penny shifted her bag of sketching materials and put the bag of takeway food on her lap to make room for him as he slid onto the seat.

  “What happened to Brian?” Penny asked.

  “We don’t know yet. But somebody was after something.”

  He reached into his pocket for his notebook. “His computer’s been smashed to smithereens.” He nodded at her. “Yeah. People have figured out that just deleting something doesn’t get rid of it. Anything that’s ever been on a hard drive can easily be recovered.”

  Penny thought for a moment and then patted Davies on the arm. “Right,” she said decisively, swinging her legs to one side. “I’m off. You’ll be here for ages, so I’m going to go now.”

  “Well, the sergeant here can drive you home,” Davies said.

  “I’m not going home,” said Penny. “I’m going to Victoria’s.” She gestured toward the bag of takeaway dinner containers. “If she hasn’t eaten, we’ll just heat this up. You don’t mind, do you? By the time you get around to it, it’ll be well past it. And I don’t need a ride, thanks. It’s not far and I want to walk.”

  Davies got out of the car and reached back to take a couple of bags from Penny.

  He looked longingly at the bag of takeaway. “I was so looking forward to that,” he said, “but you’re right, it looks as if we’re going to be here for a good while. I don’t know how long we’ll be.”

  “Well, let me know what you find out.” She looked past him to where Bethan stood on the front steps making a waving, summoning gesture.

  “DCI Davies, I think you’re needed.”

  He bent over and gave her a brief kiss and pulled her closer to him for a moment. Then, releasing her, he returned to the bungalow. Penny pulled on her gloves and, as she did so, felt the memory stick Kenley had given her yesterday in her pocket. She wrapped her fingers around it and was about to call out to Davies but changed her mind. He wouldn’t be able to deal with this right now. She stood for a mo
ment watching as Davies reentered the house and then, gathering up her bags, headed off in the direction of the bridge.

  Skeletal trees with boney, bare branches stood starkly silhouetted against the night sky, as the River Conwy flowed darkly by. She heard it splashing beneath the bridge as she hurried across. A few moments later she was on Victoria’s doorstep, ringing the bell to be let in and shifting from one foot to the other as she waited for the sound of approaching footsteps as her friend came to let her in.

  Twenty-one

  A few moments later the door opened, casting a pool of pale light onto the front step. Penny handed Victoria the bags of takeaway food and stepped inside. “I’ve just left Brian Kenley’s place,” she said. “He’s dead and it looks suspicious. His computer’s been all smashed up. We were just starting our meal when Gareth got called out, and we didn’t have time to eat, so I thought I’d bring the dinner over here.”

  “What?” exclaimed Victoria. “Slow down. This is terrible. Brian Kenley’s dead? But you just saw him, when, yesterday, wasn’t it?”

  She hung up Penny’s coat. “You haven’t eaten yet, have you?” Penny asked. Victoria shook her head. “Right, well, let’s heat that lot up, and while that’s happening, we can check out these photos.”

  She reached round Victoria and into her coat pocket, producing the memory stick containing the photos that Brian Kenley had taken at Conwy Castle on the afternoon of the art group’s outing.

  “He loaded some photos on here yesterday, and I know you’ll find this hard to believe, but I haven’t looked at them yet. It didn’t seem urgent before, but now it does.”

  “Let’s get upstairs to the flat,” Victoria said

  They reached the top of the stairs and entered Victoria’s sitting room. Victoria disappeared into the kitchen and returned a few minutes later.