Murder in the Valleys

by Pippa McCathie

“So, Pat’s on the case, is she? Still as disagreeable?”

  He nearly smiled. “Worse, if anything,” he said shortly. “Okay, if we assume for the moment it was murder, can you think of anyone who’d want to see her dead?”

  “Are you asking me to speculate, Matt?”

  He gave her a black look and snapped, “You knew her, and you live in the village. You probably know what crowd she went around with and, knowing you, you’ll be well up on all the gossip.”

  “Thanks a bunch!”

  “Well, I seem to remember it was always you and not me who knew who’d been sleeping with whom, whose marriage was disintegrating.”

  Fabia felt as if he was implying she’d spent her whole time gossiping about her colleagues. “I just kept my eyes open, Matt. It’s one of the things someone in our... your profession is meant to do, wouldn’t you say?” She watched a slight flush rise up his cheeks.

  Once again Dilys intervened. “Is there anything else you think may be relevant?”

  Fabia, suddenly conscious of the fact that Dilys had had to sit there and listen to them bicker, gave her an apologetic smile. Fabia thought Matt was still looking haggard, suddenly she felt sorry for him. This case was far too near to home for Matt, he must be finding it very difficult, quite apart from having to face her. How many years had it been since Bethan died? Eight, maybe, though it probably seemed like yesterday to him. The sound of a mobile ringing broke the silence. Matt rummaged in his coat pocket, glanced at the screen. “Hallo doctor.”

  Fabia could hear the staccato notes of Pat Curtis’s voice but couldn’t decipher what she was saying.

  “You’re sure?” Matt asked a moment later. “Okay. Are you ready for the identification? Right. We’ll pick him up since we’re in the area. He’s already agreed to do it. We’ll see you there.”

  He returned the phone to his pocket. “She says it looks like murder, the girl was dead before she went in the water, so here we go. We’d better go and pick up her step-father.” Matt turned to Dilys. “And we’ll have to get a search of her room underway. Organise it, would you.”

  As they stood up to go, Fabia thought of something else. “I suggest you tell them to look out for her diary.”

  “She kept a diary?”

  “Yes. A handwritten one. She mentioned it to me recently, maybe a couple of weeks ago, said it was half diary, half artwork.” Fabia frowned and pressed fingers to her forehead, remembering the look on Amber’s face as she’d talked about it, remembering that it had rung alarm bells. It had been as if the girl had a delightful secret she wasn’t going to share, and what she’d said had reinforced that feeling.

  “We’d been talking about Paul Vaughan,” she went on, “you know, the music promoter chap who bought Bryn-y-Mor Lodge at the end of St Madoc’s Road. She said something about him wanting to read her diary and that he’d have got a hell of a shock if he had. You should interview him.”

  “We’ll be doing so.” Matt’s voice was icy, and Fabia guessed he hadn’t known about Paul Vaughan before now, but she ignored the tone.

  “Yes, obviously, you’ll be contacting everyone who knew her,” she said with patience. “What I mean is, I think he knew her rather well. I wouldn’t mind betting she was sleeping with him, at least up until Christmas. After that, I got the impression the relationship changed.”

  “Christ almighty, Fabia!” Matt snapped angrily. “This is what I mean! You know perfectly well that’s just the sort of information I need, and you wait until now to tell me.”

  “Well of course I know,” she retorted, equally angry. “But even I can’t think of everything at once. I’ve been going over and over things this afternoon, jotting them down as I think of them while I waited for you to turn up. I’ll get my notes sorted as quickly as I can and let you have them. I’m just as anxious as you to find out what happened to Amber. More so, she was a friend of mine.”

  He glared at her, opened his mouth to speak, but Fabia wasn’t going to give ground yet.

  “I’ll be giving you all the information I can, don’t you worry, instinct, hunches, the lot. But you haven’t got time now. You’ll have to come back later,” she said.

  “If I can. Look, you’d better have my mobile number.”

  “I’ve still got it,” Fabia said shortly, “unless you’ve changed it in the last two years.”

  “I haven’t,” he snapped. “If you think of anything you feel I should know, ring me immediately. Do not, for God’s sake, go snooping around of your own accord. You’re no longer in the force, you know.”

  A blaze of anger burst inside Fabia. How dare he?

  “Fabia, I …”

  “Leave it,” she said, and hated the fact that her voice shook as she spoke. This was definitely not the time to tackle him, not with his sergeant looking on, taking it all in. She marched down the hall ahead of them and at the door she didn’t even say goodbye, but just stopped herself clipping Matt’s heels as she slammed the door on his back. It was as she returned to the kitchen she realised she hadn’t told him about Amber and Rhona’s confrontation on the bridge. Damn! It could be important. But by the time she got back to the front door and flung it open, his car was gone.

  Chapter 6

  “I think we’ve got plenty of time, sir.”

  Dilys’s quiet comment broke into the turmoil of Matt’s thoughts. He glanced down at the speedometer, then jammed his foot on the brakes and forced himself to relax his hands on the steering wheel. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Dilys glance at him and decided he owed her some kind of explanation.

  “We’ve known each other a long time, Fabia and I,” he said stiffly.

  “Yes, sir.” Her voice was totally expressionless. “I think I picked that up, sir.”

  There was a pause, then Matt said. “You know I snapped your head off when you suggested Fabia had been chucked out of the force? Well–”

  “You don’t have to explain, sir.”

  “Sod it, Dilys! What’s this ‘sir’ at the end of every sentence?”

  “Sorry, sir.”

  “Dilys!”

  She grinned at him and he gave a bark of laughter. “No, I’m sorry. The thing is, I used to work very closely with her, although, as you can probably tell, our methods varied somewhat. I suppose she was my mentor when I first got into the CID, but it was more than that, she was a bit like … an elder sister.” Well, wasn’t that what she’d said she wanted? “We were friends as well as colleagues. Anyway, when she was implicated in that fraud case, I just could not believe it. I tackled her, but she didn’t actually deny anything. That was what was so strange. Of course, by this time the knives were out for her, whatever the reality was, but I thought she’d be upfront with me of all people. Instead, she clammed up, wouldn’t tell me anything. I sort of assumed it was because she had something to hide. Of course, our friendship couldn’t survive that.” He shrugged. “As you’ve just seen, it didn’t.”

  “And was she implicated?”

  “That’s the bugger, I’m still not sure. Some of the old hands always refused to believe it. But, well,” he glanced at Dilys and gave her a mirthless smile, “I had my promotion to think of, didn’t I?”

  “I wouldn’t have thought that’d weigh very heavily with you.”

  “Wouldn’t you?” Matt grimaced. “I think that’s a compliment, but maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do.”

  “Maybe,” she said, turning away from him to look out of the car window, effectively ending the conversation.

  A few minutes later, they arrived at the Coles’ house, tucked into the corner of St Madoc’s school grounds. In a way, Matt was relieved he had to concentrate on the matter in hand and the past had to be pushed back to where it belonged.

  There was a police constable standing by the front door, and by the gate another uniformed officer was speaking to three men, one of whom carried a large camera. They walked quickly pass the pressmen, ignoring their questions, and went up the path to the
Coles’ front door.

  It seemed to Matt that it had been no time at all since they’d been there to break the news of Amber’s death to her parents. It didn’t matter how many times he had to break such news to people, nothing ever made it any less of a nightmare. Earlier that day, faced with Amber’s mother, a timid, mousy woman, her pale grey eyes fixed anxiously on his face, he’d wished himself anywhere but here.

  “My husband says you want to talk to me about Amber,” she’d said in a panicky rush, and his heart had sunk even further. Surely the man could have prepared her? Why leave it hanging like that? But Matt had thought he knew why. Telling anyone their child is dead is bad enough, telling someone you love must be unimaginably awful.

  “Where is she? What’s happened?” Her voice had risen, become tinged with hysteria.

  Her husband had put his arm round her, pulled her rigid body against his. “Let the man speak, Cecily, do.” But she’d pushed him away.

  Matt had watched her carefully as he spoke. “Your daughter, Mrs Cole, has met with an accident. Her body was found this morning in the River Gwyn. I am truly sorry to have to tell you she’s dead.”

  Her eyes had widened even further as she put a hand up to her mouth. What little colour there was in her face had drained away, leaving it sickly white. She’d opened her mouth to speak but only inarticulate sounds escaped, then her eyes had rolled up, her knees sagged, and Dilys had caught her just in time. Between them, they’d lowered her on to the sofa. Dilys had loosened her clothing and, as she’d begun to revive, held the glass of water Mr Cole had brought to Mrs Cole’s lips. She’d spluttered, gasped, and slowly her eyes had focused, first on Dilys’s face, then Matt, and lastly on her husband.

  “Amber? Is it ... is she ...”

  Her husband had taken Dilys’s place. “Yes, Cecily,” he said, his voice gentle as he’d put out a hand to her.

  She’d hardly seemed to notice, just stared up at him, then she’d begun to speak, the broken sentences gasped out in a sibilant whisper.

  “It’s my fault, it’s all my fault. I should have listened. Should have done as she asked. Oh God, oh God, my Amber, my poor little Amber.” And she’d turned her face into the cushions and begun to weep with open-mouthed abandon. Matt needed to know what she’d meant. It hadn’t been the time to press her, but he knew he’d have to follow it up soon.

  * * *

  Now Mr Cole opened the door before they’d even had the chance to knock. He’d obviously been watching out for them. “I’m ready,” he said.

  “Thank you, sir. Perhaps you would go with my colleague to the car. She’ll make sure you’re not bothered by anybody.”

  Cole looked down the path to the press men, and his mouth twisted in disgust. “What are they hanging round for?”

  “I’m sorry. I’m afraid it’s inevitable, sir. The best thing is to ignore them. Sergeant?”

  Dilys touched Mr Cole’s arm and led him down the path, and Matt turned to the constable by the door.

  “Is someone with Mrs Cole?”

  “Yes, sir. Her next-door neighbour, who used to be a nurse.”

  “Good. There’ll be a team down in about half an hour to go over the girl’s room. You’ll have to explain what’s going on to her mother, but be gentle about it, okay?”

  The young constable drew himself up. “Yes, sir. It’s murder, is it?”

  “Yes”, Matt said shortly. “Make sure you make a note of anything she may say, however trivial, understand?” The man nodded. “And keep that lot,” he jerked a thumb at the press men, “under control.”

  He strode off down the path, neatly sidestepped the reporters, and got into the back seat next to Cole.

  “This is a terrible business,” Amber’s step-father said as they started off. “My wife is devastated, totally distraught. She’s not a strong woman at the best of times, and now this.” His voice shook on the last words, he put up a hand to his mouth and paused for a moment as if trying to regain control of himself. Matt said nothing, waited. The seconds ticked by, stretched into minutes. At last Cole burst out, “I’m afraid my wife and I had differing views on Amber’s upbringing, and Amber’s recent excesses had made things worse. I was of the opinion that we should be firm with her, maybe cut her allowance, but my wife said it was just a phase that Amber would grow out of.”

  “Typical teenager perhaps,” Matt suggested.

  “I think it was a little more than that.” His tone was brusque. “I work with the young all the time, and I can assure you, not many of my pupils present me with the kind of problems Amber did. But we have had occasional problems with drug taking at St Madoc’s and I recognised the signs. I’m afraid Amber was – was dabbling in drugs of some kind, I don’t know exactly what.”

  “Did you tackle her about it?” asked Matt.

  “No. Cecily begged me not to. As I said before, she wouldn’t believe me when I told her what I thought was going on. Cecily is a gentle soul, not in any way assertive, and I’m afraid she allowed Amber to run roughshod over her. Had it been entirely up to me … but, of course, it wasn’t.”

  “It must have been very difficult for you.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “As Miss Morgan’s step-father.”

  “Perhaps, but we were very close when she was younger. She never really knew her own father, you see, and she used to be such a sweet little girl. But lately – well, she’d become very rebellious, staying out till all hours, sometimes she didn’t even bother to come home at all, and she never bothered to let us know where she was. Her mother used to worry herself sick wondering what was happening and who she was with. I realise, at the age of eighteen, that’s normal behaviour in most families, but we expected a little better of our girl.”

  Matt didn’t comment. What could he say? He’d not been able to prevent his sister from killing herself. What did he know about this girl? Except that she, unlike Bethan, had been murdered.

  “Of course, the cause of it all was that unsavoury crowd she was mixing with,” Cole went on. “Quite apart from the drugs, she certainly drank too much, and as a consequence she neglected her A-levels, at least, those that would have been of any real use to her. The one thing she seemed really interested in was her art, and nothing we said seemed to make any difference.” He paused and twisted his hands in his lap for a moment. “I realise I shouldn’t be saying all this now with the poor girl … it’s all so unbelievable. The trouble is there’s no altering the fact that our beautiful girl was out of control and there was little her poor mother or I could think of to set her back on the right track.”

  “We will obviously be speaking to her friends,” Matt said, “and we would like to have a word with Mrs Cole at some point, once she’s recovered a little, of course.”

  “Why do you need to talk to her?”

  “She may know things about her daughter’s movements.”

  “But I really don’t think my wife will be able to cope with being questioned. You saw the state she was in. I’m sure I can tell you anything you need to know.”

  This point always came, when you had to lay down the ground rules. “We’ll be as considerate as we possibly can be, sir,” Matt said firmly. “But the situation has changed. I’m afraid I have to tell you your step-daughter did not commit suicide, she was murdered.”

  “Oh my God,” he said, and put his hand up to cover his eyes for a moment. Matt waited.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid so,” Matt said quietly.

  “But who could do such a thing?” He answered his own question. “No doubt it was one of those louts she mixed with. I told her they were a dangerous crowd, but she wouldn’t listen.”

  Matt didn’t comment on this, just said, “We’ll need to establish her movements over the last twenty-four hours. Could you tell me when you last saw her?”

  “Saw her?” At first, he didn’t seem to have understood the question, but a moment later he pulled himself together. “I’m sorry.
I don’t seem to be able to think straight.”

  “That’s quite understandable.”

  “When did I – just before I went up to London, I think. I left Tuesday evening, I had to attend a conference and I didn’t get back till yesterday.”

  “Would you mind telling me where this conference was held?”

  “It was at the Commonwealth Institute and I stayed at a hotel nearby, The Beresford, together with some of the other delegates.”

  “And you returned home yesterday?”

  “Yes. I don’t remember exactly what time. Cecily was out at some church do. She spends a lot of time down there helping out with the flowers and that sort of thing.”

  “Perhaps your wife would remember?”

  “What?”

  “The time you arrived home.”

  The man’s face tightened in annoyance. “Does it matter? I can see no reason whatever why you should need confirmation.”

  Matt waited, and a moment later Cole spoke again. “I’m sorry. That sounded uncooperative, and the last thing I want is to hinder your investigations. The sooner you find the bastard the better. Poor, poor Amber.”

  For the rest of the journey he sat with his head turned, gazing out of the window, his hands gripping his knees.

  * * *

  Earlier in the day, just for a moment, Matt had considered asking someone else to go with Cole to identify Amber’s body, but he’d known, deep down, it wasn’t an option. He was in charge of the case, being there was part of the job, and he must not let his personal feelings influence him. This had to be done, and he had to do it.

  The three of them walked along the echoing corridor, its vinyl covered floor accentuating every step, the white paint and harsh lighting unforgiving in its brightness. Dilys led the way and Cole, beside Matt, held himself rigidly erect, his hands gripped into fists at his sides. Matt touched his arm as they came to a half-glazed door at the end of the corridor.

  “Are you all right, sir?”

  “Yes.” The man took a deep, shuddering breath. “Let’s get this over with.”

  Dilys opened the door and stood aside to let them pass. It wasn’t a very large room they entered, and not unlike an operating theatre, with its strong lighting, white tiles, gleaming instruments, and the all-pervading smell of antiseptic. But there were other, more primitive smells lurking beneath this. The raw scent that rose from human flesh cut open and laid bare and, for Matt, the creeping smell of decay and death.