Murder On Bwytheney

by Elizabeth. M. Newby

  “I bet Matthew loved that!”

  “Haha, not a chance. He shut himself away in his study to catch up with some work. Apparently, it’s more entertaining than my choice of TV. But it suits me. I get to curl up on the bed with some wine and snacks all for myself,” she laughed.

  I had visited their B&B farmhouse numerous times over the years and was trying to recall the layout. When I interviewed them for the blog, we were sat in the study. It was a generous-sized room at one end of the sprawling cottage, tucked away from the kitchen and guest dining room that were the heart of the business. It had French doors that opened on to their immaculate gardens. If Bronwen was upstairs watching TV, then was it entirely unfeasible that Matthew had snuck out the French doors without her knowing? He could have easily made his way across to Melissa’s place from there.

  “Who do you think done it?" asked Bronwen. "I keep finding myself suspecting everyone. It's horrible. People I've known all my life, and suddenly I'm wondering if they could be a killer."

  “I’ve no idea. I can’t see any connection between Pete and Melissa.”

  “No, me neither. Pete hasn’t even been here that long. I don’t know that he and Melissa even knew each other that well.”

  “It’s so strange. If we were anywhere else but this island, I’d think there were two killers.”

  “Yeah? Why’s that?”

  "Well, there's no obvious connection between the two of them, and then there's the way they were killed - completely different methods. Melissa was a blunt force to the back of the head, which suggests a certain amount of rage. And then Pete was poisoned – a more calm and calculated murder…”

  I took a deep breath and looked out the window over the sea. It really was a possibility. It would make more sense. But the thought that there was a murderer on Bwytheney was horrific enough. The idea of two being here was unthinkable. But if it was true, then Matthew was still a suspect in Melissa’s murder.

  “Oh gosh, that makes far more sense. I wonder if the police have thought of that, “said Bronwen as she sipped some of her tea, “you know what, I think you’re right. I mean, it’s a terrifying thought that there could be two murderers in our community, but it’s the only thing that makes sense.” Bronwen placed her teacup back on the saucer and let a shiver run through her body.

  “Maybe. Anyway, I really must get on with this article.”

  “Of course, sorry, I’ve been disturbing you.” Bronwen finished off her cup of tea and headed out of the café.

  I knew I’d let my guard down. Here I was with a woman who had either lied to me or whose husband had snuck out of his house that night, and I was running my mouth off to her. I needed to get this article done and then head home. I couldn’t safely carry out my research in the café with prying eyes around me.

  Chapter 13

  There were no updates from the police, and it was looking more and more likely that they didn't even have any leads to follow. But I did have a couple of things I wanted to follow up on. There was nothing concrete that I could take to the police without being laughed out of the station as some kind of busy body. So, it was down to my research skills to find out a little more at the very least.

  This was going to take a spread of snacks. Research was a game of patience, and snacking on tasty foods kept my attention. I put together a platter of cheeses, cured meats, pate, and crackers. I couldn’t resist adding a slice of cake to an extra plate. I placed them on my desk at the side of my laptop and had my pad of paper and pen on the other side, ready for taking notes.

  First up was Gregory Albright. I wouldn’t have given him a second thought if it wasn’t for the lie he told about his car being broken. And while I couldn’t see a connection between him and Pete, if I hadn’t visited Melissa that fateful day, I wouldn’t have thought there was any connection between them either. Something was bothering me about his reaction to Melissa, turning down his offer. But I didn't really know much about Gregory and the sort of business he did. We always joked about him being the landed gentry. He was born into money, and I always assumed he lived off his estate. Yet, he had talked about going to the mainland to do business. It was time to find out more.

  There were no social media accounts other than an official one for his estate. That only provided a brief background to his family and information on the estate and gardens tours. I hadn't expected to find out much here, though, as Gregory didn’t strike me as the kind of person to be a social media user. Next up was Google. Maybe I could find more about the sort of business he was in. I soon had a hit with his name appearing on Companies House as a director. The list of companies that he seemed to be involved with was overwhelming. Some seemed to be construction and civil engineering businesses, whereas others seemed to be around property or letting. Alarm bells started ringing. If he wanted to build on Melissa’s land, he would have a fight on his hands. It seemed insane that he would even think that he could get away with it. But I just couldn’t see him wanting to run a campsite.

  Working through them methodically, I wrote down the names of the various businesses as well as the other directors involved. One name, Alan Rainer, kept coming up time and again. Opening a new tab, I googled his name alongside each of the business names. It was when I reached GAR Holdings that things got interesting. An article from the Liverpool Echo popped up dating back to 2018. Accusations had been made against Alan Rainer in relation to a development. It seemed that there was fierce opposition from locals who felt the plans weren’t in keeping with the kind of accommodation needed in the area. Planned initially as rental flats, permission was later granted for a change of use to luxury holiday accommodation. They were now being let on a weekly basis to those wanting to visit the city. Rainer was quoted as blaming a lack of interest in the residential flats. Locals accused him of overinflating the rent on purpose so they couldn’t afford them. They said that the more lucrative holiday accommodation had been his plan all along. There were also accusations thrown at the local mayor and councillors that they took back-handed payments to grant permission.

  Of course, the paper had found no evidence of dodgy dealings and instead took the angle of the controversy and tensions around the development. But my journalistic nose told me that those at the paper believed there was truth in the rumours and had run the story to publicise it while covering their backs from any legal ramifications.

  That’s one of the things I loved most about the city. Liverpudlians stood up for what was right. They recognised those who were less fortunate and fought fiercely for their rights. More than once, they'd bought far-right marches to a grounding halt, penning them into the train stations before they could even set foot on a pavement. It was a place where the little guy could beat Goliath. And I was convinced that this was what the paper was doing – exposing someone taking advantage of the people to make more money.

  GAR Holdings was the business behind this development which meant Bwytheney’s very own Gregory Albright had his hands in this too. Was it possible that Gregory was bribing officials to make more money? Did he plan to do something similar with Melissa’s land? Because there was no way that would ever get approval unless people were willing to accept a bribe. It was a thought that left me feeling like I needed to jump in the shower and scour the dirt off my skin. I loved Bwytheney and its people, but now I was suddenly thinking it was full of murderers and con artists.

  Would Gregory really want to do something like this on his own doorstep, though? It was one thing him doing it in a city on the mainland where he could keep his distance, but if he tried it here, it would be a very different story. He would be ostracised by much of the community and would face anger everywhere he turned. Of course, I didn't know that was what he wanted to do, but pieces of the puzzle were falling into place now.

  There was just one more piece of the puzzle to sort. The thought that had been lingering in my mind somewhere was now fully formed. It seemed far-fetched, but I couldn’t ignore it, and before I took a trip
to the mainland, there was some more searching I needed to do on my computer. That should tell me if it was possible, at least.

  Chapter 14

  A few years ago, I started delving into my family history. With so much online, it was easy to get started. At times, I did have to travel the length of the mainland to get more details. Over time, I’ve pieced together all kinds of family stories that were lost. There was the great grandfather killed while building a bridge during the first world war. His son who lied about his age so he could enlist but then died on the Somme. Oh, and let’s not forget the boy raised in a respectable children’s home that taught boys to become sailors. He eventually sailed the seas as well as spending time in prison for a drunken fight. The description of his tattoos really bought him to life. There is no doubt that I love stories, and there is something particularly fascinating when you can piece them together from the past. I’d been dabbling in genealogy ever since and had helped a few people on the island look into their families too. Although, most of their ancestors could be found in the graveyards dotted across the island. I was going to need every bit of my genealogy skills for my next piece of research.

  I logged into my Ancestry account and readied myself to search through the births. I needed to find out more about Melissa’s secret child. There was little information to go on, but I reckoned it was enough. Melissa had never married, which meant I knew her surname. Her friend Pam had also told me that her child was a boy born in 1994. While the place of birth was a bit of a gamble, I was pretty sure it was Liverpool. Melissa had gone to stay with Pam, and everything about Pam suggested she was a scouser through and through.

  I plugged in these details into the search terms and pressed enter. As suspected, many results popped up. It would take me ages to sort through them. But then I remembered that the father didn’t have anything to do with the baby. That meant the baby was probably registered with Melissa’s surname, Palmer. Finally, there were just a few relevant results. When I removed the girls, only two possible babies had the same surname as the mother: Anthony Palmer, whose birth was registered in quarter two of 1994 and Mark Palmer, registered in quarter three 1994. Investigating two dates would be manageable. There were still no guarantees, but it would be worth a trip to the mainland for the next stage.

  I picked up my phone and text Dan, "Fancy a visitor this weekend?" It had been far too long since I visited. Dan was one of my best friends during my university years, and we had shared houses together. He was now enjoying life in Manchester, and I knew their Central Library had what I wanted to check. We could have a weekend catch up, and I could do my research. Caz and her children were always happy to look after Shadow.

  True to form, Dan text me back just a few minutes later, "YES, GIRL! It's been WAY too long!"

  “Come on, Shadow,” I said, “I’ve got a boat to book. Let’s take a stroll.”

  Obedient as ever, he plodded over to my side, and we made our way down to the marina. Not far from the jetty was the little portacabin office where you could book your trips and buy tickets. You could do it online, but one of the best changes I made when moving to this island was doing more things in person. Not only did we get fresh air and exercise, but we could also have a chat and catch up.

  I could see Aaron sitting behind the desk in the office, engrossed in something on the computer. If I knew Aaron, he would be watching YouTube videos of his favourite computer game or different ships worldwide. It was the only two things that really interested Aaron. He started working at the marina when he was still in school, having pestered for almost a year about a Saturday job. As soon as school had finished, he started full time.

  "Hi, Aaron, how are you?"

  "Cara, good to see you. I'm good, thanks. More importantly, how's Shadow?"

  “He’s good, aren't you, boy?"

  Shadow barked his approval which made Aaron laugh. “Want to book a trip?”

  “Yes, please. I’d like to go to the mainland tomorrow if possible. I know you get booked up, but I can do any time of day. And returning on Sunday.”

  “Sure, no problem.”

  Aaron handed me my tickets which I stuck in my pocket. I stopped carrying a handbag about six months after arriving in Bwytheney.

  As I started walking away, passengers were disembarking from one of the boats that had arrived from the mainland. There was a familiar face.

  “Pam," I shouted while waving my hand, madly in the air. Good one, Cara. She might not even remember you. She's probably wondering who's the crazy lady.

  But Pam broke into a smile and waved back, making her way over to me. “Hey, how are you?”

  "Oh, I'm okay, thanks. It's been a bit crazy around here. But you just have to keep going.”

  “Yes, I heard there was another murder. Awful. Are you free now? I’m back to sort some things out at the campsite, but it would be great to have some company.”

  “Yes, sure. Actually, you might be able to help me with something." I bit my bottom lip. Things were racing around my head, and I needed to share it with someone. Pam was probably the best person, even if she did end up thinking I was losing it.

  Twenty minutes later, we were sat in Melissa's kitchen. It was the first time I had been here since that night. It felt eerie to be sat there again, knowing Melissa was no longer here.

  “So, what can I help you with?” asked Pam.

  “I’ve been thinking about what you said.”

  “What I said?”

  “About Melissa having a baby. You said he was born in 1994?”

  “Yes, it was so sad. I think it affected Melissa for the rest of her life more than she'd admit. I suspect it's why she avoided relationships. You know, she's included him in her will? Wanted to leave him everything if he had shown up at any point in her life.”

  “Well, I’ve tracked down two possible births that could be her son, assuming the birth was in Liverpool. If you had the date of birth or the name of her baby, it would make the next step easier.”

  “Mark, his name was Mark. Palmer obviously. He was born in June 1994. I don’t remember the exact date.”

  “That’s okay, we don’t need it. That fits with one of them I found.”

  “But what’s this got to do with Melissa’s murder?”

  “I don’t know exactly. I just have a hunch, one that won’t go away. But I'll know more after the weekend. I'm sorry to be cagey, but I promise to tell you more when I'm back."

  “What’s going on? Where are you going?”

  “Manchester. I need to visit their library. After that, I'll know one way or the other."

  Chapter 15

  The crossing over to the mainland was quiet enough. I was travelling against the flow of traffic. Most of those travelling between Liverpool and Bwytheney at this time of day were returning from their work in the city to their home on the island. Of course, the later ferries heading to the city would be full of those seeking a night out in the clubs, surrounded by beer and sweaty bodies. But my journey was quiet. I was able to sit back and look out to sea.

  On a good day, you could occasionally spot the coast of Ireland, but on this trip, it remained hidden. I did spot a porpoise or two dancing in the waves, and it reminded me that I was overdue a visit to Moursoin Isle. It was known as the spot for spotting the porpoise as they often came close to the shoreline. It was a smaller and quieter island but perfect for a break with a good book and some sightseeing. Shadow also got to enjoy the more tranquil beaches and rockpools.

  It didn’t take long to get to Liverpool and hop on a train to Manchester. The city was as bustling as ever. There were the crowds of people to weave my way between and, of course, trams to watch out for. It was a city that welcomed you into its chaos and proudly displayed its many cultures. I always had a good time when I visited, and I knew Dan loved living here. Island life had slowed me down, though. I relished my weekends here, living the fast pace of life as the vibrant city filled my senses. But I welcomed the calm back on Bwetheney, wh
ere I could rest and recuperate. Perhaps, I was just growing older.

  Dan and I had been thrown together in student halls during our first year at the University of Liverpool. For the following two years, we chose to live together, after which he moved to Manchester and I headed for London. But we had remained firm friends. It was an unlikely friendship. There was me, the creative and artsy writer, and then Dan, the computer geek driven by data. But secretly, we were fascinated by what the other did. And, of course, we were connected by a sense of needing to know the truth. It was this that drove me to follow a career in journalism. I wanted to investigate and expose the truth, show where wrongs were occurring in the world. I did it in story form, and Dan…well, Dan sometimes used his IT skills to do the same, although it wasn't always above board. I think it added a little excitement to his life too. There are only so many grey suits, office blocks and screens anyone can take.

  His door flung open almost as soon as I knocked on it, and I was embraced in his hug. I laughed, “Hey Dan, how are you?”

  "I'm good. But then I do not have to dodge a serial killer," he teased.

  We walked into the open-plan space at the heart of the flat. Dinner was already on, and Dan poured me a large glass of red wine.

  “Have they arrested anyone yet?” he asked.

  “Nope. I don’t think they even have a suspect. All they say is that they have some leads they’re following.”

  “Do you have a suspect?”

  I smiled. He knew that I could never resist a little bit of investigation. However much I told myself that it wasn’t really my idea to start looking into the murders, it was inevitable that I would.

  “As a matter of fact, I do. It's a bit far-fetched, but I'm hoping a visit to the library tomorrow will prove I'm on the right track."

  “Ooh, intriguing.” Dan was pulling a lasagne out of the oven and plating it up. There was something comforting about the cheesy aromas as they wafted my way. Dan seemed to be naturally good at cooking. He hadn't touched his oven until a year ago instead, living off takeout. But there's only so long you can get away with that, and we weren’t getting any younger.