“This is an extraordinarily good instrument, Dilys. Have a look.”
Dilys, who’d also pulled on a pair of gloves, took his place. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to focus it properly.”
“You won’t have to. It’s all set up. You realise what this means of course.”
“What are you getting at?”
“Well, think about it. What a gift to a person who likes a good snoop into their neighbours’ activities. It’s a perfect way to keep an eye on everyone. She could gaze straight into people’s bedrooms, watch them walking in the park, rowing or fishing on the pond. The range is fantastic. She’d be able to see into most of the gardens and houses on the opposite side of Morwydden Lane, those in this end of Parc Road, the activities in that warehouse, or whatever it is, between here and the High Street, and into some of the top floors of the High Street shops nearest the bridge. As to the bridge itself, clear as daylight.” Matt could feel excitement mounting. “I think that’s why she’s dead. I think she saw Amber meeting somebody. Maybe she even saw whoever it was kill Amber.”
“Isn’t that rather a lot of speculation?” said Dilys.
“Maybe,” Matt snapped, irritated, “but it fits, doesn’t it?”
“But why didn’t she tell us?”
“Would you, if you were going to try and make some money out of it?”
“No, I don’t suppose I would, but nor would I put Rhona Griffiths down as a blackmailer.”
“Well, not for money, perhaps, but there are other things she could have asked for.”
Standing in the middle of the room, Matt looked round again, and once more his eyes came to rest on the leather case with its gleaming locks. He walked over to it, tried to lift the lid, and wasn’t surprised to find it locked.
“Let’s have that bunch of keys,” he said to Dilys. “There were several smaller ones on it. We might come up lucky.”
She handed them to him and he sorted carefully through them, looking for a small enough key to fit the locks on the case. There were only two that looked remotely possible. He tried the first one, but it wouldn’t even go in. He tried the second. It went in smoothly enough and turned just a little way, then met resistance, but he kept trying. After a little manipulation there was a grating click as the key turned. The other side was easier. Dilys leant over his shoulder as he flipped the latches back and, very carefully, lifted the lid.
The case was full. There were stacks of what looked like hymn sheets and the like, some theatre programmes, none of them for recent productions, and several bundles of letters. A shoe box which, when Matt carefully lifted the lid, revealed another stash of letters, some with blue and red airmail markings round the edge, and several old-fashioned photograph albums. Matt closed the lid.
“Get a couple of the SOCOs up here to go through this lot, would you? With a bit of luck, it could tell us a great deal about her. No, on second thoughts, get Roberts onto it. It’s right up his street, methodical stuff like this.”
When Police Constable Roberts arrived, Matt told him what he wanted. “Make a record of absolutely everything, it doesn’t matter how ordinary you think it may be, but anything that looks even remotely unusual or out of the ordinary, or relevant to the case in hand, I want to know about it immediately.”
* * *
Knowing Matt and his team were next door made settling down to work impossible for Fabia. She tried to do some housework, but when she found herself standing, gazing blankly into space, while the hoover roared away on the same spot, she gave up. Striding determinedly out to the kitchen, she checked the cupboards and made a list of odds and ends she didn’t really need, then tore it up. The last thing she felt like doing at the moment was trudging up to the High Street just for the sake of shopping that she could do any time. When she found herself at the window, gazing next door yet again, she decided a brisk walk was the only solution. She threw on her coat, wrapped a scarf round her neck against the chilly wind, and strode out of the house. Turning determinedly away from Rhona’s, without even a glance next door, she strode off towards Parc Road.
Several times since that dinner with Alun Richards and the others – hard to believe it was only last week – she’d found herself thinking back, unable to leave the past alone. And it wasn’t just Matt she’d been thinking about, it was Peter Harrison too, and the rest, that whole ghastly debacle. How long ago had it all begun? Ten years, if she went back to the very beginning.
Fabia sighed, stopped and looked around. Pontygwyn provided magnificent views to the east and north. From here, she could watch the blue and mauve shadows of clouds creating tumbling patterns across the lower slopes of the Brecon Beacons, moving with the wind over the patchwork of fields, and beyond to the distant hills. Down towards the end of the park, where the river disgorged itself from Gwiddon Pond, she could see the dun-coloured brick of Cwmcoed Farm nestling in the dip, and ribboning past it the road turning northeast towards distant Hereford. But the beauty of this countryside she loved so much was not having its usual calming effect. Matt’s reappearance in her life, and Neville Breverton’s involvement in the case, had brought back too many dark memories. Stupid to think she could have buried it all so easily. All she’d done was to clamp the lid on the cauldron for a while. Now it was thrown open again, getting the lid safely back in place wasn’t going to be easy.
Ten years. Way back then, she’d just been made Inspector, the youngest female Inspector Milford Haven had ever had. That was when Peter Harrison had arrived.
“He’s coming in from the Met” they’d been told by their chief superintendent. Pulpit Jim, they’d called him. Jim Evans, Chief Superintendent of police and part-time Baptist preacher.
“Harrison has had a great deal of experience with the new systems,” he’d said, “and he’s coming down here to bring us up to date, teach us how to be more efficient. I want your full cooperation, mind. I hope that’s understood.”
But she didn’t think he’d meant quite the kind of cooperation she’d provided.
Peter had been dynamic, exciting, and incredibly attractive. Let’s face it, Fabia thought now, I fell like a ripe plum straight into his hands – and his bed. She’d had no idea he was married, his wife and two children still in London. And even if she had known, would it really have made that much difference? she wondered bitterly. Fabia walked on, head down, lost in the past, no longer aware of the view.
It hadn’t been long before the bubble burst, only three short months. Of course, they’d been discreet, but not discreet enough. Inevitably, someone had told Pulpit Jim what was going on. Fabia still felt a sickening lurch of the stomach at the memory of the repercussions. Not only was it just the sort of behaviour to get him preaching morality; what she hadn’t known was that Peter had a dual role. He’d also been brought in to ferret out some rotten officers in the drug squad; to clean things up. As far as the bosses were concerned, their relationship had completely undermined that part of his job.
Even now, anger rose inside Fabia over the injustice of being blamed for the whole affair. Overnight Peter cooled off and, from then on, virtually ignored her. There’d been no way he was going to allow their relationship to jeopardise his career. And as for Pulpit Jim, he’d made a real meal of it all.
“You have a straight choice, Inspector Havard.” She could still hear the distaste in his voice and knew, as a woman, he would hold her entirely responsible. No doubt he’d preached many a sermon condemning the Jezebels of this world. “Either you leave the force now, or you accept this transfer to Cardiff and we forget about the whole sorry episode. Your disgraceful behaviour will not be referred to again by anyone, ever, and that includes you. I cannot allow the actions of one promiscuous young woman to destroy all the good work we’ve done here. Let that be an end to it.”
If only it had been the end of it. Not for her. For months, years she’d waited for a phone call from Peter, seen him round every street corner, tensed at any mention of his name. It hadn’t been until nea
rly three years later that she’d almost accepted his betrayal, and meeting Matt had finally helped her push Peter out of her mind. But then the whole affair had blown up in her face again.
Sick leave! What a farce. Fabia threw back her head, looked up into the wind, felt it grab at her hair. At last, she was rid of all that, she’d finally resigned. But a small voice in the back of her mind couldn’t be denied. There was no way the wind could blow away the nightmare memories. Of course, it wasn’t the end of it, not now Matt was back in her life. It remained to be seen whether that was a bad or a good thing, but she had to admit, she wasn’t optimistic.
Fabia stopped her steady trudging. It’d be lovely if she could just stand here, looking out across the hills, and consign the past to their ancient embrace. She gave a twisted smile, told herself not to be fanciful. She wasn’t far from the farm now, must have walked nearly a mile and a half. Time to stop this brooding and go back.
Chapter 24
When Fabia got back, Matt’s car was gone, although there were still two others parked outside Rhona’s, and the police constable stood on guard by the door. She picked up the Newport Evening News from the mat as she walked in, carried it through to the kitchen and threw it on the table. First, a much-needed cup of tea, then she’d sit down and read it. There was bound to be something in there about Amber’s murder. Of course, Rhona’s death wouldn’t be reported yet, but it wouldn’t be long before the press pack descended.
As it happened, she didn’t even get as far as filling the kettle. Her attention was arrested by the main photograph on the front page of the paper. There was Neville Breverton smiling out at her, dressed in a dinner jacket under a velvet-collared overcoat, his hand lifted in greeting to the photographer. Beside him was a woman Fabia found vaguely familiar.
Tea forgotten, she leant her hands on the table and read the headline. “Local MP Says His Piece for Women”. Quickly she spread the paper out, sat down, and began to read. It was a report on a speech Neville had made at a dinner the night before.
“In his capacity as a Junior Minister in the Home Office with particular responsibility for violence in the home, Neville Breverton MP was invited to speak at a fundraising dinner last night for the charity, Full Stop. He is seen (above right) arriving at the Guildhall with Lady Rosalind Masterton QC, Patron of the Charity.”
So, Neville had been in London last night. This put a completely different complexion on things. Fabia wondered if Matt knew. And there was something else. The fact that his speech had been given pride of place on page one did rather indicate his friendship with the editor was a strong one. Usually the front-page news was much more locally orientated. What happened in faraway Westminster was felt to be of little relevance here, in fact, since the advent of the new Welsh Assembly, people were inclined to resent coverage of national politics.
Fabia ran her eye down the page. At the bottom was a piece about Amber’s murder, but there was little there that Fabia didn’t know already. It was obvious Matt was keeping things very close to his chest, not giving the press any more information than was absolutely necessary. The reporter fulminated for a while about the safety of the streets, but said nothing useful, simply ending with advice to readers to contact the police if they had any information they thought might be helpful.
Her eyes travelled back up to the photo of Neville with his smug smile. Suddenly something that had been lurking at the back of her mind since Saturday pushed itself to the fore. “Oh, bugger!” she said aloud. That was it. Why hadn’t she remembered before? Could these last two years have affected her powers of observation so badly? She felt an impotent anger with herself. She must put this right as soon as possible. Fabia grabbed the phone and, yet again, dialled Matt’s number.
* * *
Late that afternoon PC Chloe Daniels knocked on Matt’s office door. “I was just about to get going, sir,” she said, face pink and eyes bright with satisfaction, “but I thought you might like to know what I’d come up with so far.”
“Let’s have it.”
“This is the list of planning applications. I went back four years like you said: who was involved, who benefited, directors of the companies, etc. Then I did some research into local party funds. I think you’ll find that bit by there quite interesting in the circumstances. As to the membership of the golf club etc, that was a bit more difficult, but I managed in the end, and the information about the Masons, well–” The pink of her cheeks darkened a little. “I asked my brother about that, sir. I hope you don’t mind. I remembered he’d done a piece on the influence of the Masons in local government. Don’t worry, I didn’t tell him why I wanted to know, but I can usually get what I want from Gareth if I go about it the right way.”
Matt smiled in spite of himself, “You obviously have your methods, constable.”
“Yes, well, you said it was important. And here are the details on the last case Miss Havard was investigating before she was transferred from the Fraud Squad. Seems odd, really, her being taken off the case so suddenly, particularly as she seemed to have turned up quite a lot. It was that Cwmberis development – Vasic and his son. Apparently, at one point, it was thought the land had been contaminated, heavy metals, but nothing was ever proved. Old man Vasic’s dead now, but the son, Tony, is still involved in several projects locally, some of them decidedly iffy. He’s not come our way again yet, but it’s rumoured he’s got some very dodgy friends.”
“There’s no doubt about that. It’s making anything stick that’s the problem.”
“Isn’t that always the way, sir?”
Matt looked up at her eager face and wondered if she’d ever lose her enthusiasm for the job when she realised how very true that statement was. He hoped not.
“Good work, Chloe.”
“Thank you, sir. Is there anything else I can help with?”
“Not at the moment, but what you’ve done so far is excellent. I won’t forget this.”
“Thank you, sir,” she said again, and left the room positively glowing.
Matt got himself another cup of coffee, he seemed to be living on the revolting brew at the moment, and sat down again. He rubbed at his eyes and prepared to go through the information Chloe had put together, but before he could start reading, his desk phone rang. He grabbed at the receiver, “Lambert,” he snapped.
* * *
It wasn’t until much later that evening that Matt arrived on Fabia’s doorstep. As soon as she opened the door to him, she could see he was in a bad way. He looked exhausted, drained of energy, his shoulders sagging and his eyes bloodshot.
“I’m sorry, I couldn’t get away until now.”
“No problem,” she said, a little brisk. “You look knackered,” she added, relenting a little.
He followed her into the kitchen. “It’s a nasty one, this, and now we’re getting it in the neck because there’s been a second death. You know the score.”
“You bet I do. Have you eaten?”
“No, but there’s no reason why you should feed me,” he said stiffly.
“Shut up Matt. Let’s try and pretend we’re friends, okay? I’ve got a piece of steak I didn’t fancy which could do with eating up.”
“Well, if you’re sure.” He sounded so awkward she almost laughed, but instead of answering she pushed an open bottle of wine across the table to him, and pointed to a cupboard. “The glasses are in there. There’s lettuce and some watercress in the fridge, make a salad, and you’ll find half a baguette in the bread bin.”
Matt fetched the bread, tore off a chunk and began to chew at it absent-mindedly while he searched for the salad. As Fabia cooked she went on talking, wanting to fill the silence as much as anything else. “I’ve got some odds and ends to tell you. Of course, you might know some of it already–”
“Fire away.”
“It seems Neville Breverton was at a dinner in London last night, some charity do, and it’s covered in the Newport rag, photo and all. I doubt very much he could have bee
n home earlier than three in the morning, if then.”
“Dilys picked up on that one and had the same thoughts. But it doesn’t alter the fact he was involved with Amber.”
“I suppose not. Have you got a time of death on Rhona yet?”
“No. Pat Curtis is doing the PM tomorrow morning.”
“Was it murder?”
“Probably.”
“Poor little dab of a woman,” Fabia said sadly. “I’m afraid I wasn’t very nice to her these last few days.” For a while she concentrated on her cooking, then lifted the steak onto a plate and put it down in front of him. She sat down opposite and poured herself some wine.
Matt ate in brooding silence for a moment, slicing into the succulent meat and chewing away rapidly. After a few minutes he looked up, shamefaced. “Sorry. I hadn’t realised how hungry I was.”
“Don’t worry, you go ahead,” Fabia said, twirling her glass slowly and watching the light play on the wine inside, thinking as she did so how good it was to have Matt sitting in her kitchen. She gave him a tentative smile. “It feels a bit like that first case we did together, the Glynmor gang, remember? I think I was your sole source of food for about three weeks.”
He said nothing, hardly seemed to have heard what she said, just went on eating. The smile on Fabia’s face faded. She felt snubbed. Anger niggled, but she pushed it aside. Better to change the subject. “Did you have a look at that telescope of Rhona’s?”
Now he did look up at her, frowning slightly. Fabia got the impression his thoughts were returning from a long way off. She wondered what he’d been thinking.
Murder in the Valleys Page 20