Chapter 18
As I put my key in the door with Shadow now at my side, I heard a voice inside.
“Hello?”
“Pam? It’s me, Cara. I’m back.”
"Thank god. What's this all about? I was in the bath, having a soak and got out to your message. It terrified me."
“I’m sorry if I frightened you. And I’m not sure that there is anything to worry about now, but I couldn’t be sure.”
“How about a cup of tea? I’ve got the kettle on. Then you can tell me what all this is about.”
“That would be great.”
I put my bag down and went and sat at the table Pete had made me. It was weird to think his craftsmanship had outlasted him, and it was strange to have someone else making tea in my house. I was tired, though, and happy to let Pam make herself at home. It was my fault she was here scared out of her wits.
“How was your trip? Did you find what you needed?”
“I did. Remember how you were kind enough to share the details of Melissa’s child?”
“Yes…”
"Well, I interviewed Pete not long ago, and it turns out he was adopted. I went to find him on the adoption register. His birth matches up. Although they don't give you the exact date of birth. We'll have to wait for the certificate to arrive, but—"
“But what? Sorry, I don’t follow.”
“I think Pete was Melissa’s child. I think that he came to this island looking for her. He lost his adoptive parents a few years ago, and I guess he decided to try and find her.”
“What? No, she would have told me. And what’s that got to do with someone killing them both? It doesn’t make sense.”
"On the day of the murder, I saw a local driving off from Melissa's, and he was not in a good mood. Apparently, he wanted to buy the campsite from Melissa, and she said no. Don't worry, I have told the police all this. Anyway, it was bugging me, so I started looking into him. I came across a load of dodgy stuff. And this weekend, my friend Dan discovered that this guy and his business partner had planning permission for a holiday park rejected. We think that’s what he wanted to buy the campsite for and that he’ll pay off the right people to make sure it goes through this time.”
“But what’s this got to do with Pete?”
“Well, perhaps this person found out that Pete was back on the scene. You did say he was mentioned in the will. If they thought he could inherit the campsite…”
Pam got up and walked over to the window sipping her tea. “Is it enough of a motive, do you think? For two murders?”
"Greed," I replied. "Murders tend to be committed for greed, jealousy or revenge. This is greed. Build here, and it has the potential to make a fortune. It would ruin Bwytheney. But it would make money."
“This is so far-fetched…we don't know that Pete was her son or that anyone knew about her having a child. And how would anyone know about the contents of the will? And yet—”
"I know it seems bonkers, but this guy lied to me about the day Melissa was killed. He was in the pub that night but left early. He told me his car was broken, but I saw him in it just a few hours before. He was really cross. If he was after the land and then saw you at the campsite, I thought—”
“He would come after me.”
“Exactly. What did Melissa want to do with the campsite?”
“She always hoped her son would show up and could take it over. If that wasn’t the case, she wanted me to have it on the condition that half of any profits were put in a trust fund for her son. If he never showed up, she wanted that money to go to a children’s charity. She never stopped thinking about him. But that means it’s not safe for me to be here. If you’re right, then I could be next.”
“Until half an hour ago, I was convinced I was right. But now I’m not so sure. There's something else we've not considered, but I need to make a phone call later.”
Pam and I spent the afternoon together, talking and reading books waiting for the hours to pass. As soon as it was 5pm, I pulled out my phone and called Beryl.
“Hey, Beryl. It’s Cara.”
“Oh, hello, Cara. How lovely to hear from you.”
“How are you?”
"I'm okay. Sad about Pete. He seemed like such a lovely man. He visited me not long before, you know. Reminded me of you, asking me all about stories from the past. Who would do such a thing?” Beryl sobbed.
"Oh, Beryl, don't upset yourself. You're right, it's awful, but they'll catch who did this, I know it. Tell me what you’ve been doing today?”
“Same as every Sunday. I went to church, had some lunch at Cupcake Café and then headed for the crib club. I won three games today!"
“That’s great! I saw Gregory Albright heading to the club today.” I hoped this was a subtle way of bringing him up in the conversation.
“Oh yes, Gregory comes every week. He’s a very fine crib player. But now and again, I manage to beat him."
“Was he there last week?”
“Of course, he comes every week. There’s only about five of us left now, you see. You younger ones seem to have no interest in the game. If one of us doesn't turn up, it's not much of a club. Although Bert couldn't make it for a whole month last year when he had that heart attack.”
“Hmm, maybe I should learn more about this game, eh? I could write a blog post about it and try and drum up some interest on the blog?”
"That's a marvellous idea, and I know you'll love it once you give it a go."
“What time’s it on?” My heart was beating. I felt awful using Beryl this way. Yet, there was no way I was going to reveal why I really needed this information and risk upsetting her. It was best she didn’t know what I had been thinking.
“We usually start at about 1.30pm, and we finish up around 4.45pm. That gives people time to enjoy dinner at the pub before the quiz. When you get to our age, you don't want to keep going in and out of the village. It's better to just stay there for the day. I don’t bother with the quiz, of course, but the others do...except for today, with it being cancelled.”
“It sounds like quite the day,” I said. With two murders on the last two Sundays, the pub had decided that it was probably best not to run the quiz this week. “Does Gregory never leave part way through crib? I mean, he seems very busy.”
“Never! It’s why we do it on a Sunday. No one has to be anywhere.”
“And will you teach me to play, Beryl?”
“Sure will. We’ll make a start the next time you visit.”
After saying goodbye to Beryl, I put my head in my hands. No one could have got hold of the cakes before 2pm. It wasn’t Gregory. Unless his business partner was in on it too. But I could feel my theory slipping through my fingers like the sand on Islethorpe beach. A headache was beginning to thump inside my skull. There was something else I needed to consider, but I couldn't face it quite yet.
“Well?” said Pam.
I had almost forgotten that she was there. “It looks like my suspect has an alibi. I need a break. Fancy helping out with the blog for a bit?”
“Sure, that sounds exciting.”
“Hahaha, not really. I’ve got a bunch of emails and photos to go through. Tourists send them to me all the time. However, I also want to put together a piece on Melissa, celebrating her, you know. I have a few stories from others on the island, but it would be great to have something from her best friend.”
“Right…”
“If it’s too upsetting, I understand.”
“No, no. It's a beautiful idea, and I have lots of stories. It just still doesn't feel real – talking about her as someone no longer here.”
Pam curled up with her laptop on one of the armchairs, and I stretched myself out on the two-seater sofa. Usually, I was religious about working at my desk, but all the rules were being thrown out.
There was email after email of people saying how sorry they were about Melissa and Pete. Many of them had favourite photos from their holidays attached. For some reason, pe
ople seemed to love it when their photos got used on the blog. There was one from someone called John, who was a photographer. You could tell he was in the industry because he'd set up a folder of photos that I could view. Even he wasn't requesting payment to use his images.
I clicked on the link and started flicking through. As you would expect, he had an eye for capturing beauty and unique moments. There were panoramic photos that showed Bwytheney as the jewel it was. Other shots captured locals going about their daily business, but somehow, he managed to bring a little magic to each one of them.
As I looked through those taken out at Brynness, I froze. It couldn’t be. But it was. I was sure of it. I zoomed in on the photo and was surprised by the sharpness of the image. Of course, this was the difference between someone like me taking snaps on my phone and a professional photographer. Amongst the various stones and walls of the long-ago ruined castle were three faces that I recognised.
Those thoughts I was trying to push down came rushing back, each piece of information dropping into place, painting a new picture of what had happened.
Chapter 19
I was on my own and knocking on the door of the killer. The solid farmhouse door swung open, and there stood Matthew, the island’s most recent hero. The last time I had seen him, he was walking out the sea with the boy in his arms. He was now dressed in jeans and a shirt with a rollneck jumper over the top. His hair was almost entirely grey and stuck up at the crown. There was a crease running down his cheek. It looked as if he had been dozing before I banged on the door.
“Hi, Matthew. We need to talk.”
He looked taken aback, but I wasn’t about to apologise for my sudden appearance on a Sunday night.
“Erm, sure. Come in,” he said.
“Shall we go to the study? I think it’s best to keep this away from the guests.”
I could see him swallowing hard before leading me down the hallway.
“Can I get you anything? A tea, perhaps?” His voice was shaking.
“No, thank you. I want you to tell me about Melissa Palmer, Matthew.”
He let out a huge sigh and fell into one of the chairs. He leaned forward, placing his head in his hands. His fingers curled around tufts of his hair, grasping them tightly. His knuckles whitened, and still looking down at the ground, he said, “I don’t know where to start.”
“Oh, I think somewhere around 1993 or 1994 would be a good place to begin.”
“Cara, please. You have to understand how difficult this is.”
“And getting murdered is an absolute breeze.” I paused as I heard a small sob. “Matthew, tears are not making this go away. Start talking. Now.”
This harshness was as much a surprise to me as it would have been to anyone who knew me. I just knew this story had to be told. It was time for the truth, and Matthew was the person who needed to tell it.
“I…erm…it was a long time ago. And I was foolish. Things weren’t great between Bronwen and me. Our marriage was under pressure. She was desperate for children, and it drove a wedge between us. One day, after a big row, I went out for a walk to calm down and bumped into Melissa. We got chatting and…”
“Keep going,” I prompted, “you know this has to come out.”
“I had an affair. Melissa and I grew close. She listened to me, which was more than Bronwen did. It was wrong. I know it was wrong. But it just kind of happened.”
“When was this?”
“1993, it was around summer.”
“And how long were you seeing each other for?”
“Seven or eight months. We caught up with each other when we could. But then the rumours started.”
“Is that when you ended it?”
“Yeah. Bronwen got wind of the rumours and confronted me. She was furious, screaming at me. You have to understand how much pressure she was putting herself under at the time. She desperately wanted children, but it just wasn’t happening. She was consumed by it. The idea that she couldn’t have children and her husband was having an affair was too much. I’m not proud of myself, Cara. I should have owned my mistakes back then. But I just kept denying it, trying to reassure her. It would’ve broken her. I couldn’t bear it, putting her in that much pain.”
“And what happened after you ended it?”
“Nothing, Melissa went to stay on the mainland for a bit to give us some space and let the rumours calm down.”
“Matthew, let me make this easier for you. I already know what happened, but I want to hear it from you. This is your chance to share your side of the story. I know you’ve already tried to let the truth out. You’re WakeUpNordIsles2021, right?”
Matthew took a few deep breaths, readying himself for what was to come.
“Yes. I left those comments hoping someone would find out about Melissa and Peter. Honestly, nothing happened for over 27 years. And then my whole world was turned upside down just a few weeks ago.”
He paused, waiting for me to speak. I kept my silence, giving him the space to gather his courage.
“Melissa told me she needed to talk to me, that it was urgent. Bronwen’s never forgotten those rumours, so we arranged a day to meet up at Brynness, away from here. She was nervous, agitated even. I was really on edge. I mean, what could she want to tell me that was leaving her so unsettled. Oh gosh, this is so hard.”
“You’re doing great, Matthew. You need to say it. You know you do.”
“She told me why she’d really left the island after we separated. Melissa had a baby. A boy. My baby. I never even knew he existed. She gave him away without a word to me.”
Tears were now flowing fast down his cheeks.
“And how did you react?”
“How do you think? I was devastated. I couldn’t hold it together. She tried to comfort me. But the news just kept coming. The only reason she was telling me was that he had shown up. He was on the island. He wanted to meet me too. Melissa promised that she wouldn’t tell him who I was until I was ready. I spent hours tormenting myself about it. I mean, how could I suddenly turn round to Bronwen and say, by the way, I have a child? It would have destroyed her. But he was my boy—”
“And who was that child, Matthew?”
“It was Pete. Peter Langley. He was my boy, and now he’s gone.” Matthew’s tears became uncontrollable sobs, “It wasn’t me. It wasn’t. I couldn’t.”
“Did you see Melissa again after she told you?”
Matthew’s eyes shot up at me, and there was a pause in the sobs. He had no idea that he was spotted out of the house that night.
“Yes.” His voice was a whisper.
“When Matthew?”
“That night. The night she was killed. I swear it wasn’t me. She was alive when I left her. She was outside sorting the woodpile, and we talked and then I left.”
“What were you telling her?”
“My decision. I was telling her that I wanted to know my son. That I wanted to be a part of my son’s life even if it cost me my marriage. I know how this looks. Oh god, I’m going to jail, forever, aren’t I? But it wasn’t me. I didn’t lay a finger on her.”
“That’s not entirely true, is it. Babies aren’t made without laying a finger on someone.” The voice had come from the doorway, and Matthew shot to his feet and turned around. Bronwen was stood there, her eyes burning with hatred.
“It’s okay, Matthew. I know it wasn’t you. Bronwen, do you want to tell him, or shall I?”
Chapter 20
Nord Isle Living Blog
Murder Mystery Solved: Bwytheney Gives Up Its 27-Year-Old Secret
There have been many new readers to this blog over the last few weeks, and if that’s you, welcome. I hope you’ll stick around to find out more about the incredible Nord Isles and everything they have to offer beyond recent gruesome events.
For those who’ve been around longer, you will know how much love I have for these islands and their people. Never could I have imagined that I would feel so at home somewhere when I arri
ved around 15 years ago. Recent events have hurt my heart and had my head in a spin.
It became apparent quite quickly that as someone who knows quite a bit about this place and the people and has an investigative background, I needed to delve deeper into what had happened.
The police and residents were perplexed by the double murders of Melissa Palmer and Peter Langley. Melissa not only ran the popular Beachview Campsite that so many of you have visited but was also born and raised here. Bwytheney ran in her blood. Peter, on the other hand, had moved to the island only six months earlier. He was a quiet, unassuming man who was making Bwytheney his home and relaxing into island life. But what connected these two people? There had not been a murder on the island for over forty years. Then these two happened within a week of each other. There had to be a connection.
The more I thought about it, the further away I seemed to get from an answer. But I knew that finding the connection was the key to this mystery. And so, I began to delve into the lives of Melissa and Peter. It was a journey that would reveal a 27-year-old Bwytheney secret. A secret that was kept from all other islanders, but it is one I am telling today in honour of those whose lives have been turned upside down or taken due to its revelations.
I want to take you back to 1994. Melissa was 17 years old and found herself, like many teenagers, becoming increasingly bored with her parent’s company and fed up with the island’s gossip. One day, she bumped into a neighbour who was upset. Matthew was going through a challenging time in his young marriage. They chatted to each other, shared their problems, and found solace in a listening ear. One thing led to another, and they embarked on an affair. It is something Matthew regretted deeply for decades, knowing it was wrong. But with what he knows now, it's hard to see whether he should feel regret.
A few months after Melissa and Matthew started seeing each other, the rumours began. Anyone who’s lived island life will know that it doesn’t take much for these fans to be flamed. Sometimes they have a kernel of truth, and other times they can simply be a misunderstanding that's blown into something. In this case, the rumours were right, and it was the young Melissa who felt the brunt of these. Matthew was desperate to save his marriage. When his wife confronted him about the rumours, he continued to deny them, blaming the island’s gossipers as making up stories.
Murder On Bwytheney Page 7