by Rachel Green
“Ah! The land of sheep and real fires.” Winston straddled his desk and booted up the laptop there. “We’ll get you on the road looking for little kiddies again in no time.”
“Thanks.” Dafydd motioned to the workshop with his mug. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a Roller in a workshop before.”
“No? I’m not surprised. They like to keep them in-house. I’m an awful lot cheaper, though they keep a tight fist on the parts for them.”
“Who does it belong to? Waterman?” Meinwen rolled her eyes and mouthed, “Lord of the Manor” to Dafydd.
“No actually.” Winston peered over the top of the screen. “Richard Godwin, or it did.”
“Did?”
“It belongs to the finance company now. They’re collecting it next week. He defaulted on the payments and I was just repairing a few scuffmarks and the ding he put in the bumper last week to get it back into tip-top condition. It just needs the golf leaf reapplying and it’ll be ready to go.”
Meinwen shook her head. The Richard she knew would never have been so careless with money. What had happened to the man? She was glad she hadn’t taken up his offer to be her Dominant. If he treated his cars this badly, how did he treat his submissives?
“Gold leaf? Real gold leaf?”
“Sure.” Winston tapped a few keys. “Richard rubbed it off the nearside wing. It’ll be a couple of hours work to replace.”
“And you can do that, can you?”
“Yeah. It’s not hard if you know what you’re doing. There aren’t many coach painters about any more. It’s all done by lasers and robots now.”
“Didn’t old Tom used to do that? The gravedigger?”
“‘Used to’ being the operative phrase. He can hardly hold a brush these days with his arthritis.” Winston made a series of rapid taps on the laptop keys. “He taught me the skill while he still could and I give him a cut of any business he sends my way.” He closed the laptop. “Right. That’s the panels, indicators and lights for your van ordered. They’ll need painting to match, though, so I need to take some photographs of the originals before I rip them off.” He grabbed a fairly expensive-looking camera from a shelf and headed outside.
Meinwen and Dafydd followed him. “Did you say Richard was in debt?”
“I don’t think so.” Winston stopped at the van and turned the camera on, taking pictures of both sides, the bonnet and the back, where there was a picture of a large lady with a lollipop that declared Stop! Children! “What I said was he’d defaulted on the payments. I didn’t say nothing about him being in debt. Whether he does or doesn’t keep up payments on his cars is none of my business.”
“Cars? He had more than one?”
“Sure. He had a Merc too, though I haven’t seen it for a few months. Maybe he got rid of that too.”
“Do you have the information on it? Registration number, that sort of thing.”
“Yes. Why?” Winston lowered his camera and turned to face them. “Why are you so interested in Richard Godwin? I thought you and he weren’t an item?”
“Winston.” Meinwen laid a hand on the mechanic’s ark. “Richard’s dead. He was murdered last night in the graveyard at St. Pity’s.”
“Dead? You’re serious? Shit.” He shook his head and turned away, but not before Meinwen saw the glint of tears in his eyes. “He was just a kid.”
“He was in his twenties, managing a substantial house and investment portfolio. I’m guessing he’d trodden on a few fingers in the last few years.”
“And he was murdered? In cold blood?”
“Yes. Rather brutally, too, from what the inspector said.”
“So the police know about it? That’s something, at least.” Winston sank down onto a stack of tires. “Do they know who did it?”
“Not yet. People are being a bit tight-mouthed. You know what he was into. It doesn’t exactly make his friends and family want to talk to the police. That’s why Inspector White asked me to put some feelers out. See if we can find out who’d want him dead.” Inspector White had said no such thing but she was sure he wouldn’t mind, as long as she informed him of any information she gathered.
He put the camera down on the wing of a Morris Minor. “And who would?”
Meinwen shrugged. “You tell me. As far as I can make out, everybody loved him.”
Dafydd gave a half laugh. “Apart from his wife.”
“Catherine?” Meinwen shook her head. “She wouldn’t want him dead. What purpose would that serve. She’d already got the divorce settlement.”
“Divorce? They weren’t divorced.” Winston shook his head. “Uh-huh. She cleared off all right and took most of the money with her but they never actually got divorced. Someone needs to get in touch with her because everything will be hers now. Everything except the Roller.”
“She’s very lucky. “ Meinwen nodded. “Unless there’s another will.”
Chapter 23
Meinwen pulled her bag from the table as Sergeant Peters carried the tray over. Joe’s burger van in St. Marple’s indoor market wasn’t the most discrete place to meet the police but it did serve good food, at least according to Detective-inspector White.
He took a tea and a bacon butty from the tray, arranging it in almost a military fashion on the table while Peters, Meinwen and Dafydd each took their order, then motioned Peters to dispose of the tray. “Right. You’ve been meddling, I take it?” He watched Peters stretch to put the tray on the next table, then turned his gaze on Meinwen.
“Meddling? Investigating more like, as you knew I would.” She levered the plastic lid from her tea and sniffed at the ocher brew. It smelled of tannin.
“I knew no such thing.” White leaned forward, one forearm resting on the table. “It would not be conducive to a police investigation to have interfering old busybodies poking their nose into the circumstances of a murder.”
“Ah. That’s why you told me who’d been done in, was it? So that I didn’t have a few words with a few someones?”
“Exactly.” He took a large bite of his sandwich, chewing twice before having the space to suck in an errant wisp of bacon fat. Meinwen’s gaze was drawn to a drop of red sauce left behind on the edge of his mouth. It flashed with every movement of his jaw, like a drop of blood on a motorized fan.
“I’m sorry, I got a bit lost there.” Dafydd put down his burger. “Are you saying you did ask Meinwen to help or you didn’t? You seem resentful she’s discovered something you haven’t.”
Sergeant Peters cleared his throat. “DI White has categorically not asked Ms. Jones to investigate the case on his behalf. He has not asked her to have a poke about the house and has not asked her to chat to the family and gather a list of potential suspects. Neither has he agreed to reopen the Fenstone suicide since the two men were connected in social and financial circles.”
“You’ve reopened John’s case?” Meinwen beamed. “That’s brilliant.”
“Let’s just say I have an open mind abut it.” White took a swig of tea. “There were some persuasive arguments in favor of it being murder.”
“Excellent.” Meinwen’s grin faded. “That you’re reopening it, I mean, not that it was a murder.”
“Allegedly a murder.”
“Of course.”
“So what have you got for me?”
“A fair trade of information?”
White sighed. “As you wish, Ms. Jones, though I charge you to keep it under your hat. There are details only the police are aware of, and it’s only your previous assistance in the murdering vicar case which encourages me to bend the rules now.”
“Okay. Who identified the body?”
“I did, as it happens. I recognized him straight away. Poor bugger. He’s still waiting to be formally identified, of course. I’ve arranged for his sister to come this afternoon.” He looked at his watch. “Quite soon, in fact, so can we speed this up?”
“But it was definitely Richard?”
“Oh yes. I’d know him a
nywhere.”
“Was he murdered in the cemetery or elsewhere and dumped?”
“In the cemetery. There are distinct signs of blood pooling from the stab wounds. Plus we found the knife.”
“What sort of knife?”
“Quite an odd one, actually.” Peters leaned forward. “It was a T-shaped knife.” He picked up a couple of plastic stirrers and arranged them. “You hold the bar in the palm of your hand and the blade protrudes between your second and third fingers.” He demonstrated with a slow-motion punch to Dafydd’s chest.
“Like you hold your car keys in a self-defense video?”
White coughed. “I’m not sure what videos you’ve been watching Ms. Jones. We certainly don’t condone the use of such methods in self-defense. You leave yourself open to counter-claims of bodily harm when you employ such methods. We prefer a strict unarmed and fast response policy.” He took another bite of his bacon cob.
“Come again?”
“Kick him in the balls and run.” Peters grinned but wilted under the inspector’s glare. “Sorry, sir.”
“Be that as it may, if we can identify the knife we can determine where it came from and be one step closer to catching our killer.”
Dafydd waved his burger at them. “It’s a mail punch.”
“I beg your pardon?” White wiped his mouth with a napkin. “A mail punch? Like a letter opener?”
“Wrong sort of mail. In the medieval period fighters would wear chain-mail coats in an effort to deflect blades. A mail punch was a knife designed to break through the steel rings and injure or kill the target.”
“So...a pretty specialized weapon then?”
“It was. Now you can get one online fairly easily. I believe they’re very popular among re-enactment societies and street gangs.”
Peters snorted. “Same thing, aren’t they?”
“Still, it’s an avenue to research. What about you?”
“Me?” Meinwen put the lid back on her tea and pushed it to the middle of the table. “I don’t know anything.”
“You must have something for me, Ms. Jones. What did they say at The Larches when you went visiting this morning?”
“Not a lot, actually. They threw me out on my ear. What I did discover was via a third party. Richard and Catherine were separated but not divorced. He was in trouble financially and had at least one of his cars repossessed.”
Peters’s phone bleeped, and with a nod of apology he rose to take the call away from the table.
White watched him go before addressing Meinwen again. “That’s a good start. Anything else?”
“Not yet. A bit about John Fenstone though.”
“Oh? Go on.”
“He was good friends with Richard and,” Meinwen lowered her voice, “he was a male escort on the side.”
“Really? That is interesting.” White bit at his bottom lip. “So the two cases may be connected. It looks like you’ll get your wish, Ms. Jones. I will be reopening the John Fenstone case.” He looked up as Peters returned. “What is it?”
“They’ve got fingerprints on the knife.”
“Oh yes?” White grinned. “Have we got a match?”
“You’ll love this, sir. Harold Waterman at the Manor.”
Chapter 24
Meinwen waited until the two policemen crossed the nave and left before turning to Dafydd. “I don’t know about you but I’m dying for a proper cup of tea.”
He looked into his plastic cup. “What’s wrong with this one? Tasted fine to me.” He popped the last piece of burger in his mouth and began wiping his hands with the napkin, though to Meinwen’s eye it made them greasier than they’d began.
“It was packed full of tannin and caffeine. It couldn’t have been worse if he’d put sugar in.” She flicked the two offending sachets with her finger. “Honestly, the inspector’s insides must look like pickled mushrooms with the amount of rubbish he eats.”
“He looks all right on the outside.” Dafydd shrugged. “For an old bloke, I mean.”
“Experimenting with gender preference?” Meinwen grinned as she rose. “Will Beryl have anything to worry about?”
“Beryl? Who’s Beryl?” Dafydd collected the paper plates and cups and carried them over to the bin. When he returned he picked up the discarded sugar sachets.
“The inspector’s long-suffering wife. What do you want with those?”
“You haven’t got any sugar in your house.” He smiled as he pocketed the packets. “You never know when a little bit might come in handy.”
“But it’s refined.”
“All the better. I wouldn’t want to bring anything crude into your life, would I?”
“Very droll.” Meinwen led him out of St. Marple’s and across Market Square. Despite the small number of antique and collector’s stalls inside the faux church it wasn’t a market day and the striped canopies of the outside stalls served only to emphasize the gray clouds overhead. She pulled her coat close around her and hurried across to The Goddess Provides.
“What a lot of letters you get.” Dafydd bent to pick them up. “I didn’t realize witchery was so popular in these parts.”
“Most of them will be circulars.” She scanned the envelopes, extracted two that looked to be personal and set the rest aside. The two she carried through to the back of the shop, setting them on the cafe table while she took off her coat. “Put the kettle on, would you? I’ll have a raspberry and chamomile infusion.”
“Sure.” He pottered about while she read the two letters. “Who are they from? Don’t tell me your lover boy is writing to you already?”
“Lover boy? Jimmy?” Meinwen picked up a scrunchie and tied her hair in a loose ponytail as she pulled out a chair to sit. “I doubt that very much. I’ve met blokes like him before. A ship in every port. I was just convenient and available. He’d have probably shagged the first person he met whoever they were. I have no allusions regarding hunky Mr. Fenstone.” She frowned and looked up from the letter. “How did you know? I didn’t mention it.”
“I’ve known you long enough, Meinwen Jones. I can tell when you’ve had sex recently. You get this little flush in your cheeks.”
“I don’t know whether to comforted or disturbed by that.” Meinwen shuddered and returned to her task. “Nothing to concern yourself about here, anyway. One’s a request to give a talk on the standing stones around the town next month and the second is from a woman who wants to contact her late mother about a missing will.” She folded the letter and sat back just as the kettle began to boil. “Speaking of which, I should like to see a copy of Richard’s will. I suspect it might shed some light on his murder.”
“How would you get that? They don’t seem too keen on you at the house.”
“I could try his solicitor, assuming he used the same one as his step father.”
“A solicitor wouldn’t tell you what the will contained. It’d be privileged information. You might be able to ask Inspector White to get hold of it, though. He’d have the authority, wouldn’t he?”
“Yes. He’ll probably get himself a copy before the day is out but I do have an alternative method. If he did still use Isaacs and Du Point I can have a word with Gillian. She won’t show me the will but she might give me some indication of who benefits most from Richard’s death.”
“Wouldn’t she be taking a hell of a risk to do that? She could lose her...whatever solicitors have to lose.” He put a cup of herbal infusion in front of her.
“Thank you.” She picked up the cup and blew across it to cool the liquid before taking a sip. “She knows I won’t spread it about. If Winston’s right, everything would go to Catherine.”
“That might upset a few people.”
“Yes, particularly if they don’t know Richard and Catherine weren’t divorced.”
“Which could make her the next target.”
“Yes. I need to get hold of her sharpish.” Meinwen frowned. “I wonder who’s next in line? Or at least who thinks they’re nex
t in line.”
“That snooty cow? I bet she’s capable of murder.” Dafydd plonked himself on the remaining chair. “She looks as if she’d do anything for a bit of ready cash.”
“Joan? She’d probably be amenable to the idea of killing Richard but not with a knife. She wouldn’t want to get her hands dirty.”
“She could get someone else to do it for her, though. There are a lot of people in that house. I bet someone there would be willing to do it.”
“Maybe.” Meinwen frowned. “Dominance isn’t like that, though. No matter how good a mistress someone might be they still couldn’t ask someone to go against their nature. And nobody...” She corrected herself. “Very few would be willing to kill.”
“I disagree.” Dafydd took a sip of his drink, grimaced, then put it down again. “I think a lot of people would be amenable. Especially for the sake of someone they love and especially mothers. You ask a woman if she could kill and she’d say no. You ask her if she’d kill to protect her child and the answer will almost always be yes.”
“So you think it could be Joan?”
“We know Richard was in debt. What if the house was in danger of being repossessed? That would be her out on her arse as well as her daughter and all the other people who work there. Wouldn’t that be motive enough?”
“What would it change, though? With Richard dead his creditors will foreclose on his assets anyway.”
“Unless there was a big fat life insurance policy payable on his death.”
“True.” Meinwen bit her lip. “How would we find that out? Who would we ask?”
“His wife?” Dafydd added one of his sugar sachets to the herbal tea. “One of the people at The Larches?”
“Maybe Gillian would. She’d have to have the information in order to be the executor of his estate.”
“Assuming she is the executor.”
“Of course.” She frowned as he stirred. “That’ll rot your teeth, you know.”
“Not if I chew a stick of gum afterward.” Dafydd grinned and leaned back, stretching his legs out. “I was twelve last time I had a filling.”