“Look at this, Dilys.”
She did as he asked. Just where his finger was pointing there were some scuff marks on the granite, blackish, and above them, a piece of fabric caught under a jagged lip of stone. It moved sluggishly in the breeze. It was nearly free and would detach itself and fly off in the wind any minute. Matt rummaged in his pockets. He knew that somewhere he had one of those small polythene bags with a self-seal strip at the top. He gave a satisfied grunt as he found it.
“Have you got a pair of scissors or tweezers?” he asked Dilys. After a moment she handed him a pair of nail scissors. Trust Dilys to have what he needed.
With infinite care he prised the material clear and put it in the bag. Pressing the seal shut, he put the bag in his trouser pocket. “Radio across and get some of those SOCOs up here now,” he told Dilys. “I don’t want anything disappearing before they think to go over the bridge. And tell them down there to be damn careful with the girl’s shoes.” Dilys spoke into her mobile as he walked the rest of the way.
As the bridge ended there was a rough path curving down to the water’s edge. Matt stared at it but didn’t attempt to go down. There were fresh marks in the mud, hard to identify, deep groves, as if someone had slithered rather than walked down. It could have been anyone, Matt told himself. He walked slowly back to join Dilys.
“Looks as if someone sat up here.”
“The kids often do,” she said. “It’s a regular meeting place.”
“How do you know that?”
“I’ve got friends who live round here. I’ve often seen groups of youngsters sitting on the parapet.”
“Damn! Ah well, still might be something. There’re some marks down the side there. Looks as if someone’s been down to the water’s edge quite recently.”
“Wouldn’t be that unusual, would it?”
“Maybe not, but I still want it checked,” he snapped, “and with a fine-tooth comb.”
A police car arrived and parked beside them on the grass verge. Two of the SOCO team got out, and Matt spoke to them. Leaving them to it, he and Dilys resumed their journey up through the town, Matt silently steeling himself to face the girl’s parents.
* * *
Rhona, unable to see enough from her lounge window, had decided to go up to her attic room. She’d get a much better view from there, especially if she used Da’s telescope. Excitement mounting inside her, she made her way up the two flights of stairs and, with a trembling hand, unlocked the small door at the top. Locking it behind her, she made her way across the dusty, dark room, put up a hand and, with trembling fingers, touched a framed photograph that hung on the wall. A small shelf below it held fresh flowers in a cut glass vase. She touched it again and smiled at the stern, thin-lipped face so like her own. “Such excitement, Da. I’ve come to use your telescope.”
In the recess made by the glass-sided dormer window stood a magnificent telescope, polished, pristine, not a speck of dust on it. Rhona put her eye to the lens. With an expert touch she adjusted the focus, moved the instrument slightly, and the activity in the park leapt up at her, clear and so near she felt she could reach out and touch the scurrying figures. As she watched, moving the instrument very slightly once or twice, never taking her eye from the lens, she talked in a breathy whisper.
“Oh Da, there’s an ambulance just arrived. Yes. Yes. There’s more movement now, over by there, near that white and yellow tent. The ambulance people are carrying something. It looks like a stretcher. Yes, it is a stretcher, Da. Of course it would be, wouldn’t it? I wonder if that’s her – her body. Such a tragedy in our midst. But then, she was a bad girl, wasn’t she? Really wicked, and so rude to me, Da. I told you what she said. So wicked. Perhaps God had to punish her. Do you think that was it, Da? That must be it. I mustn’t interfere then, must I? I’ve done my duty, just as you would have wished.”
She watched in silence for a while, then straightened and looked at the photograph. Her father’s face stared straight back at her with a reflection of her own superimposed upon it. She was smiling, just one side of her mouth lifted, and her small eyes were bright with anticipation and excitement.
“He’ll have to take notice of me now, won’t he, Da? He won’t be able to be nasty to me again, because I know, don’t I, Da? I do know.” She clasped her hands against her chest. “I must write him a note, mustn’t I? This is going to be so exciting, so very exciting.” And then, once more, she placed her eye to the lens.
Chapter 5
Fabia had been unable to get back to work, she just couldn’t concentrate. Restlessly she prowled about the house, brought some washing down, then forgot to switch on the machine, tidied the kitchen, but ignored the sink full of dirty dishes. She wandered into the dining room and stood gazing down at the sketches on the drawing board. And all the time thoughts of Amber and how she came to be in the river plagued her.
Fabia would never have put her down as suicidal. Yes, she was a strange child. No, child was the wrong word, woman. In spite of her age she had a mature earthiness, a sort of primitive sex appeal way beyond her years. Voluptuous was the word that came to mind – full of life. She enjoyed the effect she had on men, revelled in it. Okay, she’d been frustrated by the restrictions of village life, and angry, yes there’d been a lot of anger bottled up inside her, but she’d not been unhappy exactly. And she’d been incredibly talented, and so looking forward to her interview in Cardiff. Fabia was sure she’d had another one lined up at St Martin’s in London. Now all that talent would be unfulfilled. She felt an overwhelming regret at the thought.
Pacing uselessly up and down from the dining room, down the hall to the kitchen and back again, she felt frustration mounting. She wanted to become involved in the investigation, be in control and not dependent on Matt coming to her. What was taking him so long? And yet, part of her dreaded his arrival. She still felt so very angry with him. Two years had made little difference to that. The anger burned as strong as ever, the hurt was still as raw, and no amount of telling herself to get over it, to put it all behind her, had had any effect. Perhaps when you cared that much about a person, detaching yourself completely just wasn’t an option. It was a glue designed to hold on, come what may and, if it was torn off, it took a piece of you with it. But brooding was a pointless occupation. To distract herself she rummaged in a drawer and, finding a pad and pencil, began to make notes about Amber, just as she would have if this had been a case she was working on.
* * *
The light was failing and Fabia was thinking longingly of a glass of wine when she finally heard a car draw up outside. Her heart beat hard in her chest as, through the lounge window, she saw Matt unfolding himself from the driver’s seat. With him was a short, stocky woman, neatly dressed in yellow shirt and navy-blue suit, her mouse brown hair cropped short and spiky on her head. By the time they arrived at the front door, Fabia had it open.
Covertly she studied his face. He was pale and looked cold, his hair was in a mess and his tall body stooped with fatigue. His high cheekbones seemed more prominent than she remembered, making his face look gaunt and older than his thirty-five years. She had an overwhelming urge to reach out and touch him, comfort him, but she forced herself not to do so. Quite apart from anything else, it’d hardly be appropriate at a time like this.
He was studying her just as closely, but his face was expressionless, except for one raised eyebrow. Not a good sign. This wasn’t going to be easy.
Fabia took a deep breath and said, “Hallo Matt, I hardly expected to see you again so soon.” She was pleased at how neutral her voice sounded. “Come in. We’ll go through to the kitchen. I expect you two could do with a cup of coffee or something.” She didn’t wait for them to comment and, without a word, they followed her along the hall. “Sit down, do,” she said as she filled the kettle.
“This is DS Dilys Bevan.” At least Matt’s voice sounded normal enough, but when she turned to look at him he wouldn’t meet her eyes. His sergeant did, and Fab
ia could sense curiosity and something else in her. She wondered if Dilys knew their history. Almost certainly, given the police force’s propensity for gossip.
The silence dragged on and Fabia was relieved when the kettle clicked off and she was able to occupy herself with making the coffee. She placed steaming mugs in front of them, pushed the sugar bowl across, and sat down. “So,” she said, “you want to ask me about finding the body.”
“Yes.” Matt seemed to find it difficult to continue and Dilys, after an awkward pause, glanced at him and plunged in.
“We’d like your account of that, ma’am, but we also gather you knew the girl. Perhaps you could give us some background. Anything you think relevant. The more information we have, the better.”
“I realise that,” Fabia said, her voice cool, then regretted it as she saw a flush creep into Dilys’s cheeks. It was hardly fair to take out her feelings on the poor woman. She smiled at her. “As you might know, I used to be in the force, so all this is pretty familiar stuff for me.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“For God’s sake, don’t bother with all that. I’m no longer a police superintendent.” She didn’t bother to keep the edge out of her voice. Matt shot her a look she found hard to decipher, but obviously decided not to comment. She was relieved, but also cross with herself for bringing up the subject. The last thing she wanted was a confrontation with Matt while his sergeant sat there, an unwilling audience.
“Okay,” he said, tight-lipped, “take us through everything, from when you left the house to finding the body, and then through to phoning us. Why where you in the park in the first place?” His tone was abrupt and cold. Fabia could feel her hackles rise, but she took a deep breath and begun her account, step by step, in minute detail. When it came to describing Amber’s body under the water, she faltered, then grabbed a piece of paper and a pencil and made a rough sketch. The scene came alive under her fingers and, when she’d finished, she thrust the paper across the table towards them. Only then did she notice Matt’s jaw was clenched tight, and the pain in his eyes made her stomach lurch.
“Matt, I’m so–”
The look he gave her silenced her. “So. You didn’t try to pull her out?” His voice sounded accusing.
“It did occur to me, but I’m afraid my training got in the way. And it was so obvious it was too late to help her, there would have been no point. For goodness sake, Matt, imagine your reaction if I’d trampled all over the site like some brainless idiot. Do you think, because I’m no longer in the force, I’ve forgotten all the rules?”
His pale skin flushed a little and his lips twisted in what looked, to her, like contempt. Sitting back in his chair, he said curtly, “Go on.”
Fabia, trying to ignore the mounting fury inside herself, went on with her account without further interruption. “And so,” she ended, “I went with Sergeant Pryce and the constable to show them where the body was, and they took over. Then I came back here and waited for you to arrive. That’s about it.”
“You say you knew the girl.”
“Yes.”
“How well?”
She shrugged. “Quite well.”
“Was she into drugs?”
“Probably. Most of that crowd is.”
“And you didn’t think to do anything about it?”
“Don’t be stupid, Matt! What could I do? Anyway, that wasn’t the sort of thing we talked about. She wanted to go to art school and she used to come round to talk about painting mostly, that was all.”
“And when was the last time you saw her?”
Fabia was just about to tell him about the incident on the bridge, when something came into her mind. It was like a piece of film, blurred at first but clearing. Something about last night as she stood on the doorstep saying goodbye to Alun and the others.
“What is it?” Matt’s voice was sharp.
“Hang on a minute,” she waved a hand at him then pressed it to her forehead. Why had she drunk so much? Oh Christ, she had to remember. Someone had clattered past her, on a bicycle, head down, pedalling frantically, so fast that she felt the draft of their passing. She’d stopped to look at the disappearing figure, saw the black hair streaming out behind, and the glint of long silver earrings swinging frantically from side to side. Amber. It’d been Amber, and she’d been in a desperate hurry.
* * *
“Why didn’t you remember this before?” Matt asked furiously once she’d told them what she’d seen.
“Probably because I had a hangover.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, talk about irresponsible.”
“Don’t be a hypocrite. I seem to remember you’ve put a few away in your time.”
“That’s rich! I’m not the one who withheld information.”
“Now you’re being ridiculous. Anyway, I’ve told you now, haven’t I?”
“Excuse me, but–” Dilys’s precise voice cut cleanly through the pointless argument. Fabia caught Matt’s eye, saw what she thought was a glint of laughter and couldn’t help giving him a twisted little smile. “Bit like old times, eh?”
But he wasn’t having any of that. The laughter died, may never have been there, and the official tone returned as he looked at her coldly. “So, you saw Amber Morgan cycling past last night. She seemed to be in the devil of a hurry. Now, exactly what time was this – if you can remember, that is.”
Fabia no longer had any desire to smile. She placed her elbows firmly on the table and crossed her arms, gave him the kind of look she would have reserved for a cocky recruit in the old days. “I had some friends to dinner. Some of the old crowd, Matt, including Alun Richards. You remember him?”
Matt nodded curtly, making it clear he didn’t think this a time for reminiscing. Fabia clenched her teeth for a second, then went on.
“It was as they were leaving, about half-past eleven it must have been.”
“At the speed you say she was going,” Matt said, “it would have taken her, what? Five minutes to get to the bridge? So somewhere between 11.30 and when you found her today, she went into the river.”
“The traffic over the bridge is pretty heavy from about 7.00 in the morning onwards,” Dilys said. “I doubt it would’ve been after that, someone would have seen her. I’d guess it was between 11.00 and first light.”
“Yes. I agree,” said Fabia. “But I don’t think she committed suicide.”
Matt looked at her sharply, frowning. “What makes you say that?”
“Instinct.”
“Oh, come on,” he said scornfully.
“I knew the girl, Matt. She wasn’t a jumper.”
“Here we go again. Facts are what we need. Okay, so you knew her, but how can you be so sure?”
Fabia didn’t answer immediately but picked up her coffee mug and walked to the kettle, switched it on again. They’d always parted company on the value of instinct as against facts. Matt’s inclination was to think along straight lines, rely on what he knew to be true rather than what he simply believed to be so. But Fabia had always relied on gut reaction. Her hunches had always been a source of teasing and scorn, not only from Matt but from others as well, no matter how often she was proved right. Just luck, they’d insist, that’s all. So, now it was hard to answer Matt’s question in terms of facts. But come on, this wasn’t just instinct, she told herself. It was also a feeling based on her knowledge of the girl. Now, thinking back to the times Amber had come to visit her, she remembered again the sense of energy that had oozed from every pore of the girl’s body, as if she was hard put to contain all the life bubbling away inside herself. She’d been obsessed with her art, desperately keen to do well at art school, and had talked incessantly about her plans for a future away from Pontygwyn.
“Oh Fabia, I just can’t wait. There are so many ideas I want to get going on, but I need someone to help me, like, organise them in my head. You know, control them and get them from my head on to paper, or moulded into clay, whatever. It’s all very well having the id
eas and the talent, but I need to learn the craft part. You do see what I mean, don’t you?”
And Fabia had, very well. Amber had shown her some of her work. Raw splashes of colour, collages using anything she had to hand, thick oil paint daubed like butter onto bread. There’d been a primitive force about them, and there’d undoubtedly been a great deal of talent there. Fabia felt a renewed stab of anger at the thought that now all that would come to nothing.
“Fabia?” Matt’s impatient voice broke into her thoughts.
“It’s hard to put into words that you won’t sneer at,” she snapped at him.
“Oh, for goodness sake!”
“Sorry.” She felt angry with herself now. That really had sounded pathetic. “What I mean is, she was so full of life and enthusiasm, and she had such plans – we talked about them a lot – and she had the most enormous talent, the best I’ve come across in years. With guidance and some good teaching, she really could have gone far. She was absolutely determined to go to art school, and well on the way to being offered a place at one of the best, in fact she had an interview in Cardiff only yesterday, and another at St Martin’s in London next week. I really can’t see her throwing all that away. No,” she shook her head, “she’d never have killed herself.”
“You seem very sure about all this.” At last, he appeared to be impressed by what she was saying.
“I am.”
“Okay. Just for the sake of argument, let’s assume you’re right.”
“It may have been an accident,” Dilys pointed out.
“Possibly,” Fabia said, “but another thing I know about Amber is that she was a very strong swimmer. She used to win medals at it. So, say she was sitting on the parapet, perhaps with her legs dangling on the riverside, and she fell off, the water’s deep there, no rocks or anything. She could have swum for it.”
“Maybe she hit her head before she went into the water,” Matt said, frowning. “Pat Curtis found some bruising on the side of her head.”
Murder in the Valleys Page 4