“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Craig said with soft violence, banging on the table with clenched fists. A moment later he put his hands up to his face once more and quietly began to sob.
It was precisely at this moment that the door was thrust open and a woman burst into the room. She reminded Matt of a Russian singer he’d seen at the Welsh National Opera, a Rubenesque figure, taller than average, with improbably black hair curling down her shoulders. She glanced at her son and then turned on them, obviously very angry.
“What d’you think you’re doing to my boy? Hasn’t he had enough to put up with, what with his girlfriend dead in the river? All the same, you bloody police. Bloody bullies, that’s what.” She put an arm round Craig’s shoulders and glared across at them as she stroked his hair with her other hand. “You leave him alone. Can’t you see he’s that upset he hardly knows what he’s saying?”
“I’m sorry, Mrs Evans,” Matt said calmly, “but this has to be done. Murder is very hard on everyone involved, family, friends, everyone. If we’re to find Amber’s killer, I’m afraid questions have to be asked.”
Craig shrugged off his mother’s arm, rubbed at his face with a tissue he’d rummaged from his pocket, and muttered, “It’s okay Mam. I want to help find the fucking bastard.”
“Language,” his mother said, but it was only a reflex action. She continued to glare at them as she settled back in a chair next to her son. “Okay, but I’m staying, understand?”
“By all means, Mrs Evans,” Matt said smoothly.
Her description of Amber as Craig’s girlfriend was not lost on Matt. He wondered who was closest to the truth, Craig or his mother. But then, if the boy had found out about Amber’s activities with the two men mentioned in her diary, and there could have been others, maybe there’d been a falling out between them. Enough for Craig to lose his temper and lash out at Amber in a jealous rage? That remained to be seen. At the moment, he looked anxious to find her killer and his grieving seemed sincere. Of course, his distress could just as easily be caused by the knowledge of his own guilt.
Matt leant forward and rested his arms on the table. “So, Craig, you last saw Amber on Wednesday afternoon?”
“Yes.”
“And he was working Wednesday evening behind the bar,” Craig’s mother said in a challenging voice.
“Until he went out a bit later,” Matt said firmly, then decided on another tack. “As I said before, we’d like you to help us, and by that I mean help find the person who killed your girlfriend. Can you think of anyone who might have had reason to harm her?”
Craig simply shook his head and the silence stretched out, each of them waiting for the other to break it. Matt glanced at his sergeant and Dilys leant forward.
“You do understand, don’t you?” she said, “how important it is that we get some idea of Amber’s movements in the last few hours before she died?”
“But I told you I didn’t see her again that day. Don’t you think I wish I had?”
“Do you think she was with somebody else on Wednesday evening?”
“What d’you mean?”
“Well, she was an attractive girl,” Dilys said. “We’ve heard she had plenty of boyfriends. Did she mention anyone to you?”
Craig stared straight ahead, sullenly uncooperative, but Matt noticed that he wasn’t willing to look Dilys in the eye.
“Who do you think she might have been with?” he demanded. “Come on. This could be really important, Craig. You said you wanted her killer caught, so help us do so.”
“I don’t know, do I? I wasn’t her keeper.” But he was weakening. “Okay, so she may have been with Paul. She’d been out with him a few times.”
“Paul who?” Matt asked.
“Paul Vaughan from Bryn-y-Mor Lodge. He’s okay, Paul. Has his own studio and everything. Got us tickets for some gigs. Amber talked about him a bit, said he gave her–”
“Gave her what?”
“A good time; said he was a good bloke.”
But Matt was sure that wasn’t what he’d intended to say.
Chapter 10
As they left the pub Dilys asked, “Do you think he had anything to do with it, sir?”
“Hard to tell at the moment. I think he was genuinely fond of the girl. Maybe she made him so jealous, carrying on with other men, that he hit out at her. It’s a possibility.”
“He’s not very fond of us.”
“That’s par for the course, particularly if he’s in with that group from the Golden Monkey. He could be afraid we’ll turn something up on him almost by default.”
“I’d certainly like to know how he came by enough money to buy that Yamaha. That’s some bike.” Dilys sounded as if she knew what she was talking about.
“Into bikes, are you?”
“Not really, but my brother’d give his eyeteeth for one like that. They cost a small fortune, particularly for a lad that age.”
“Get Pryce to check out where he got it from, and what money he’s got coming in, part-time jobs, that sort of thing. And it’s worth doing a double check on him when it comes to the drugs business. See to it, would you?”
“Will do.”
Matt frowned through the windscreen as he started up the car. “And I don’t think he was being entirely honest right at the end there. Said Paul Vaughan gave her a good time, no, I don’t buy that. I think he was just about to say he gave her drugs or something like that.”
“I think you might be right there. So, where now?”
“A visit to Mr Vaughan would be a good idea, I think, but let’s do some checks on him first. Right now, since we’ve got a few minutes, I want to pop in and have a word with Amber’s stepfather.”
They drove through Pontygwyn and on up St Madoc’s Road to the Coles’ house. Murray Cole opened the door, looking haggard. His skin had a grey tinge to it and there were deep grooves either side of his mouth which had added years to him since the day before. But he was as polite as ever as he invited them into the house.
“I’ve got the results of the post-mortem,” Matt told him. “I thought you’d want to know what was found.”
“Yes, yes,” Cole said, but the ghost of a shudder ran through him as he spoke.
They stood in an awkward little group in the middle of the incredibly neat sitting room as Matt outlined Dr Curtis’s findings.
“So,” he finished, “I’m afraid there’s very little doubt your stepdaughter was murdered, Mr Cole.”
“Oh God. You’re absolutely sure, are you?”
“I’m afraid we are, yes,” Matt said gently. “Would you like us to speak to Mrs Cole ourselves? We will have to interview her at some point.”
“No, I’ll tell her,” he said quickly. “She’s sleeping at the moment. Dr Page still has her sedated.”
“I see. Well, perhaps you could help us on one other point, sir.”
“Of course.”
“We believe your step-daughter was sending poison pen letters.” Matt watched the man’s face carefully as he said this, ready to pick up on the slightest reaction. There was none at first. His expression barely changed at all, nor did he make any comment, but the muscles in his cheeks tightened until the skin went white. Matt went on. “We’re hoping that your wife, in particular, might be able to help us work out who she sent the letters to.”
“Why would my wife know?” he said sharply, as if they’d accused his wife of sending the letters herself.
“As Amber’s mother she might well–”
“I see no reason at all why she should know anything about it.” He was sounding angrily protective now. “Are you certain she was writing them?”
“We know of at least one she’d sent, we’re hoping to interview the person who received it later today.”
“I’d like to see this evidence.”
“That won’t be possible at the moment, sir.”
“Why?”
“It’s with our forensics team.”
“But you’re willi
ng to show it to my wife.” He was beginning to pace up and down the room in agitation.
“In due course, yes. But then, she is Amber’s mother.”
Cole swung round and glared at Matt. “And I have been her father since she was six years old. You think I don’t know her? Don’t care about her?”
“That’s not what I said, sir.”
Cole took a deep breath, obviously trying to calm down. “I’m sorry. Of course, I know you’ll have to speak to Cecily soon. It’s just that I don’t want her upset any more than she is already.”
“I understand, sir, but as I said before, we will have to talk to her,” Matt said firmly. “Can you tell us when that would be possible?”
“Tomorrow, maybe.” It was obvious his mind was no longer on them. He continued to pace up and down, muttering almost to himself. “We loved Amber very much, both of us, but there’s no denying she was a difficult child, and always has... had been. And now still it goes on.”
Dilys caught Matt’s eye, opened her mouth to say something, then seemed to change her mind. Matt was glad she had. Better not to interrupt him.
His pacing had brought him round to face them and he seemed to come to realise they were still there. “I’m sorry, Chief Inspector. This tragic business is getting to all of us. It was only a few days ago Cecily had Rhona Griffiths complaining about Amber’s behaviour in extremely strong terms. My poor wife was very upset.”
“What exactly did Miss Griffiths say?”
“I’m not sure exactly. She objected to Amber’s clothes, and her behaviour – said Amber was always being rude to her. The Griffiths woman was most upset, in fact Cecily described it as ‘beside herself’. She ranted and raved, said if we didn’t deal with Amber she’d have to do so herself.”
Matt hoped his face remained impassive. “And what do you think she meant by that?”
“The Lord knows.” Cole seemed completely unaware of the implications of what he’d said. “She’s completely round the bend, probably got hormonal troubles, not responsible for her actions, you know what I mean. I’m afraid Amber would have enjoyed winding her up.” He gave Matt a sharp look from under his brows. “Is that who she was sending the letters to?”
“As yet we’re not sure exactly who they were sent to,” Matt said. There was no way he was going to be more specific at the moment.
“Might be worth checking. She’s the sort of person Amber might have targeted.”
“We’ll bear it in mind, sir.”
Matt could see that he was making an effort to pull himself together. “As to my wife, would it be convenient if I let you know you when she’s fit to see you?”
“Yes, thank you. I’m sure you realise how urgent it is, Mr Cole. It will have to be within the next few days.” Matt waited for the protest, but it didn’t come. “We’ll get out of your way now then, sir. And if you do think of anyone else Amber might have written letters to, here’s my card.”
Cole took it without looking at it. “Of course. Anything I can do to help, anything. I’ll not rest until the monster who’s done this dreadful thing is behind bars.” He edged towards the door and held it open, obviously relieved at the prospect of their departure. “I’ll see you out.”
* * *
Matt had hopes of the interview with Rhona Griffiths. Apart from her involvement with Amber and the letter, he remembered what Fabia had said – Rhona was a nosy woman who always knew everyone else’s business. People like that could be very useful. He hoped to be able to glean a good deal of background from her, quite apart from any specific information. And there was what Cole had said about her state of mind and her reaction to Amber, that mustn’t be forgotten either. But would someone really kill out of a warped mixture of jealousy and outrage? God only knew. In Matt’s experience, murder had been committed for much less.
They parked directly outside the house and Matt couldn’t resist a glance next door to see if there was any sign of life at Fabia’s. There wasn’t. Friday afternoon she could be doing the church flowers or something. That was something she’d done in the past, and it’d always surprised him. He remembered the arguments they used to have about her church going.
“Don’t know why you bother,” he used to tease. “Load of superstitious nonsense. How can you believe in all that with the job you’ve got?” And she’d usually responded with a grin and a remark about his family. “Shame on you, a parson’s son, and your brother a parson too. You should know better.”
He pushed these thoughts out of his mind and followed Dilys up the path to Rhona Griffiths’ front door. As he did so, he noticed the lace curtain in a downstairs window dropping back into place. Barely a second after they’d knocked, the door opened. Matt thought he saw a flash of disappointment in the woman’s eyes when she saw Dilys standing there, then she caught sight of him and her eyes lit up. Oh Lord, he thought, here we go.
“Chief Inspector Lambert,” Matt said, holding out his warrant card. “This is Sergeant Dilys Bevan and we’d like to talk to you about Amber Morgan.”
“Oh yes, yes,” she said, her voice high and sibilant. “Do please come in. Such a tragedy, but one waiting to happen, I’m afraid.”
They followed her into an impossibly cluttered lounge. On the walls were dark oil paintings, one a sentimental study of a father and child, two others rather dour landscapes, their jutting gold frames heavy around them, and here and there hung family photographs, all rather rigidly posed. The furniture was predominantly Victorian, over-ornamented mahogany, and even the armchairs and settee looked rigid and uncompromising. Every surface contained brass, china or glass ornaments, and every cushion had its brightly coloured embroidered or crocheted cover. Matt found the crowded, oppressive feel of the place depressing and longed to escape.
“What makes you say that?” he asked.
Her beady little eyes gazed at him, but she didn’t answer, obviously put out by his direct question. After goggling at him for a moment without answering, she invited them to sit down. She twittered around offering them tea, which they refused. Anything else? Again, they refused. Finally, she came to rest, perched on an upright chair with her hands clasped tightly in her lap, staring relentlessly at Matt while totally ignoring Dilys.
Matt asked again, “What made you think this tragedy was waiting to happen?” He watched as the colour in her cheeks deepened a little.
“Perhaps I shouldn’t have said that. De mortuis nil nisi bonum, as my dear father would have said.”
“But sometimes in a murder investigation, unfortunate though it may be,” Matt said earnestly, thanking his lucky stars he was well up on Latin tags, “it becomes necessary to speak ill of the dead in the interests of justice.”
Rhona looked deeply impressed by this. “Oh, do you really think so, Chief Inspector? Of course, you would know best, wouldn’t you?” She gave a strange little snigger, then looked embarrassed and added hastily, “I mean, in your job.”
“Yes indeed,” Matt said, relieved that he seemed to have hit the right note. “We’d be most grateful if you could give us your honest opinion of Amber Morgan. It would certainly help us enormously.” He gave her one of his most deprecating smiles and watched with mounting distaste as her colour deepened even more and she put up a hand to pat at her hair. The silence lengthened while an ugly porcelain clock on the mantelpiece ticked away the seconds, and Rhona Griffiths’ unblinking little eyes gazed at him intently over the fingers now pressed to her lips.
Slowly she lowered the hand and said, “You say this is a murder investigation, but surely, she could have committed suicide.” She whispered the last two words as if she could hardly bring herself to voice them. “In my opinion it would not be surprising if a girl such as Amber was driven to such lengths, mortal sin though it is. The final sin of Judas, as we well know. She, of course, was not a believer, in fact she mocked most disgracefully at those of us who are of the faith.” Suddenly, her precise, old-fashioned style of speech slipped and she spat out. “And lo
ok where it’s got her.”
Good God, Matt thought, this woman’s like some caricature of an old maid from decades back. He glanced at Dilys, surprised to see a look of deep disgust in her eyes, he looked quickly away. Obviously, he wasn’t the only one who was finding Rhona Griffiths distasteful. Give me a straightforward villain into burglary or a spot of fraud any day, rather than this ghastly female, he thought. But needs must.
“We have considered that it might be suicide,” he said, keeping his voice blandly expressionless, “but the evidence points in a different direction.”
“Be that as it may, I don’t think you should discard that route of investigation,” she said earnestly, returning to her usual style. “Amber was a very wild girl, a very bad girl. I really wouldn’t put it past her, if only for the sake of the effect it might have on her nearest and dearest. She was a terrible attention seeker. But,” she said, piously folding her hands in her lap again, “she has her punishment. In Revelations it is said of such as her, I will cast her on a bed of suffering. How true. How true.”
Matt could find no appropriate response to this, so he waited for the awful little woman to continue.
“Her poor stepfather had a great deal of trouble with her,” she said, shaking her head slowly from side to side. “Her mother, I’m afraid, indulged her dreadfully. My dearest Da always said discipline was at the cornerstone of a good relationship between parent and child. I do so agree with him, don’t you?”
Matt by-passed this question with a stiff smile and asked. “What kind of trouble did her parents have with her?”
“Oh, I don’t really like to go into details–”
“–but it would help us a great deal if you would, Miss Griffiths.”
Rhona licked at her top lip, her pink tongue flashing from side to side with great speed, then she went on, with obvious relish. “She had a lot of men friends.” Her voice dropped to a breathy whisper. “Not just boys, you know. Older men too.”
“Do you know who exactly?”
“Oh, no, no, no. Her mother told me about it.” She took a sharp little breath. “At least, she hinted at it, but she didn’t say exactly who.”
Murder in the Valleys Page 9