by Rachel Green
The footsteps behind pounded against the pavement and she put more effort into running, clutching the bag against her chest to prevent it either banging into her or being grabbed as an easier means of getting her to stop. Her feet clumped against the ground, her heavy boots forcing her stride to be shorter than she’d have liked. She could hear his breath now, an easy pant as opposed to her own desperate gasping.
She tried to remember what she’d been taught at the self-defense class. She was always confidant there but faced with the imminent prospect of being attacked the knowledge slipped away like a dream in the morning light.
Was it KISS? Knee, instep, shin and...er...something else? She remembered punching upward for the throat and the windpipe, rear head-butt, elbow to the ribs. Using a key as an ad hoc weapon helped but her keys were in her bag and she hadn’t the time to pull them out. What else? Oh yes.
“Fire! Fire!” She shouted at the top of her voice. If she called for help, chances were people would ignore her rather than risk getting involved, but shout “fire” and people generally came out to either help or see the show, and these days take videos to upload to the internet. She would have been better off if she’d stayed on a residential street, though.
She veered left into Chervil Circus. Surely there would be someone willing to help there? The area was full of students and people who had bought into the idea of “urban renewal” in the seventies. She could see the bus on the other side of the roundabout. Too far away to hear her at the moment but give it half a minute and it’d be on this side heading for the bus stop. Flagging it down would be quicker than running as far as Jimmy’s flat. Just a little further and–
She felt a shove from one side and went careening to her right, tripping over the uneven paving slabs and sprawling onto the patch of rough wet grass between the road and the access path to the first maisonette. She gasped and rolled onto all fours, scrabbling to get away. She saw her attacker’s shadow as he loomed over her and a sharp pain flared in her ribs.
It took the wind right out of her and she collapsed onto her stomach. All her training went with it leaving her with nothing but “Please? You don’t have to do this. Do you want money? I can get you money.” She twisted to see her attacker but got a punch in the face for her trouble. She cried out as the taste of blood flooded her mouth. “Please...” She was vaguely aware of the bus pulling away without stopping.
Her attacker picked up her bag and upturned it. He snatched her purse from the pile and pulled out her last remaining cash and her bank card. “What’s the pin number for this?”
If she’d retained any rational thought, she’d have told him saying “pin number” was needless repetition but all that came out of her mouth was, “Three-six-two-four.”
She saw the flash of teeth as he smiled and he dived to pick up her phone. “Please? Not my phone.”
Her plea went unanswered as he shoved it deep into the pocket of his coat and his hand snaked down again to snag a paper bag. “’Shrooms? Who’s a naughty girl then?”
“No, don’t. They’re not what you think–”
She received another kick for her trouble but just as she was about to give up entirely there was a shouted “Oy.”
Another set of feet pounded the pavement and her attacker leaped over her and ran off. The heavier tread gave brief chase then stopped and returned. A shadow blocked her vision, a massive frame outlined against the lit street.
“Are you all right, love?”
“Not really.” She managed a weak smile but winced when it pulled at the side of her mouth. “But I’d have been a lot worse if you hadn’t come along.”
“Yeah. Sorry I wasn’t here quicker.”
“Will you call the police, please? He took my things...”
“No police, love. I can’t afford to have the police nosing into my business.” He squatted next to her. “Are you hurt? Can you get up?”
“I think so.” Meinwen held out a hand and he pulled her upright. She hissed with the sudden pain. “Broken rib, I think. He kicked me.”
“Did you see who did it?”
“No. It was dark. It all happened so fast.”
“You need to get to a hospital. Have you got a phone?”
“No. He took it.” Meinwen pointed. “Can you help me to walk over there? My friend lives there.”
“Sure.” He gathered her belongings up and helped her as far as the short path at the front of the block. “Are you sure you’ll be okay from here?”
“Yes. Thank you. You should get a reward Mr.–”
“No names. Sorry.” He patted a pocket. “Can’t afford the police wanting a chat, see?”
Meinwen nodded and, clutching her bag once more, stumbled as far as the door to number eight. She leaned on the bell. She couldn’t think of any particular god to call on so she prayed to any that might be listening that Jimmy would be in. There was no reply.
She tried the bell for flat one, bursting into tears when she heard a woman’s voice answer, even though it was just a tentative “Hello?”
“Mrs. Rogers? It’s Meinwen Jones. From flat five? We met a couple of days ago. Please would you call an ambulance? I’ve been attacked.”
Chapter 30
Meinwen fumbled the key into the lock on her front door. Her fingertips, several covered in plasters from where she’d lost the skin last night, tingled unpleasantly. She pulled at the black iron latch and pushed inside. It was good to be home.
“Ah! The wanderer returns. How was your walk of shame then?” Dafydd called from the kitchen. “What happened to you last night? ‘I just have to make a couple of calls’ you said but when I came out of the kitchen you were gone. No note, nothing.” He appeared in the doorway, wiping his hands on a tea towel but his face fell as he saw the state she was in. “Ach-a-fi, pet, what happened?”
“I was mugged.” Meinwen waved her bandaged hand as she sank into an armchair. “It looks worse than it is. Don’t you fret.”
“Who? I’ll bloody kill the bastard.” The tea towel suffered the possible fate of the culprit as he twisted it through his hands. “Just give me the nod and I’ll do for him.”
“I don’t know. It was dark. I couldn’t see his face. I’ve been at the hospital all night.” She attempted a smile that seemed to curdle before it was done. “I wouldn’t say no to a cup of tea, though.”
“Aye. Coming up.” Dafydd ducked under the low lintel to the kitchen but paused. “A proper tea, you mean? With milk?”
“And a spoonful of that sugar you sneaked in.” Meinwen leaned back and closed her eyes. “Just this once.”
“Right you are, love.” He seemed to be only gone for a moment before he was nudging Meinwen awake again. “Here you go. Get outside of that. It’ll do you the world of good.”
“Thanks, Dafydd.” Meinwen struggled to sit properly upright and took the mug from him, balancing it on the arm of the chair whilst she altered her grip on it, the plasters on her fingers not conductive to maintaining a good hold. “Biscuits too?” She smiled up at him as she took one from the plate. “I’m surprised there are any left the way you were going through them yesterday.”
“I bought an extra packet.” Dafydd perched on the arm of the settee. “What did they say at the hospital? How badly are you hurt?”
“I’ll live.” She took a sip of the tea and cast about for somewhere to put it down. Dafydd pushed an occasional table toward her and she lowered it to the surface, heedless of the lack of a mat. “Two broken ribs and a bucketful of scrapes and bruises.” She looked at her hand. “I still don’t remember how I damaged my fingers.”
“But you’re all right? Not in pain?”
“Pain?” She began to laugh but it hurt her ribs. She coughed instead. “Yes, plenty of pain but not right this minute.” She gestured to her bag. “They gave me codeine.”
“Oh yes?” He fished in her bag and pulled a packet out. The foil blister pack had been cut to leave sixteen tablets. “When did you last have som
e?”
“I haven’t yet. They said to take them if it got unbearable.”
“So you didn’t take them.” Dafydd shook his head as he read the dosage instructions. “What are you like?”
“I like to be in control.”
“You’re telling me.” He put the packed on the Welsh dresser. “Do you want me to make the bed up?”
“Gods, no.” She picked up the tea with her left, undamaged hand. “I had enough sleep in the hospital, thank you very much. I feel better already.”
“That’s just the sugar rush from the tea talking. You really should have a lie down. You can’t have had that good a sleep. Last time I was in hospital they kept waking me up to take my sleeping pills.”
“I remember. You were in for a fortnight.”
“I know. I was only suppose to have a blood test and–” He was interrupted by a knock at the door. “Who’s that at this time of the morning?”
“I don’t know. You made this tea with a bag so I’ve no leaves I can read.”
“What?”
“It’s probably the postman.” Meinwen made to get up.
“All right. You stay where you are. I’ll get it.”
Meinwen had her back to the door so she couldn’t see who it was until she heard his gruff tones. “Come in, Detective-inspector. To what do we owe the honor?”
“I was wondering why you weren’t answering your phone.” DI White blustered into the sitting room closely followed by Sergeant Peters. “On account of I’ve just been given the revised autopsy results from John Fenstone.” He stopped as he caught sight of her plasters and butterfly stitches. “Bloody ‘ell. What happened to you?”
“A minor disagreement with a young man who needed some valuables to trade.” She shifted in her chair to face him. “That’s why I haven’t been answering my phone, of course. He took it, along with all my cash and my bank card. That reminds me, I must cancel that and order a replacement.”
“You didn’t give him your PIN, did you?” Sergeant Peters peered past the inspector with his notebook out and a pen at the ready. “He’ll have cleaned you out otherwise.”
“It wouldn’t have taken him long to do that, Sergeant. There was less than a hundred pounds in my account. I don’t have a great deal of turnover at the shop, you know. If I wasn’t under a rent agreement, I’d be camped in your back garden by now. And the answer is no. I didn’t give him my PIN. I gave him my parent’s telephone number and good luck to him making use of that, seeing as they died years ago.”
“Did you get a look at him?” White sat where Dafydd had been up until now. “We can put out a description.”
“I’ll make more tea, shall I?” Dafydd waited for an answer, received none but left the room anyway.
“I’m sorry. It was dark.” Meinwen sat up, winced and pressed a hand to her side. “Look, I went through all this with a uniformed officer at the hospital. Can’t you read his report?”
“I suppose.” White looked at his sergeant, who closed his notebook. “At least tell me where it happened.”
“Chervil Court, where John Fenstone used to live.” She saw their faces change. “What?”
“Well known area for drugs, Chervil Court. You were probably attached by a crackhead or worse. You’re lucky you’re not dead, Ms. Jones.”
Meinwen bit her lip. “That explains it.”
“Explains what?”
The guy attaching me was driven off by another man, but one who wouldn’t tell me his name or call the police for me. If he was a dealer–”
“Drug dealer with a heart of gold? Do me a favor. You’ll be telling me next he gave you the money for a cab and a packet of fags.”
“No, but he did help me to the door of number eight, where John Fenstone lived. His brother’s there now. You said you had news?”
“Tea’s up.” Dafydd pushed past Sergeant Peters. “There’s sugar there but I hope everyone takes milk.”
White gave Dafydd an upward nod as he placed the tray on the table. Peters reached across and pulled a mug off. “Fantastic. Thanks, er...”
“Dafydd. Dafydd Thomas.” His lilting accent seemed out of place against the chintz of the cottage.
“From Wales are you?”
“I can tell you’re a detective sure enough. You’re going to make a joke about sheep any minute, I shouldn’t wonder.”
“Er...”
“Detective-sergeant Peters wouldn’t be so crass, Mr. Thomas. He got a gold star on his effective communication course and knows better than to make racially-motivated jokes.”
“That’s right. Wouldn’t dream of it.” Peters hunched over his mug.
“Sugar?”
“I bet you say that to all the sh– er, no thanks. Sweet enough as I am.”
“Detective-inspector?”
“Thank you, yes.” White spooned in three and stirred the tea slowly, the spoon making a skree-skree as it scraped along the side of the cup. “To what do we owe the honor?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Real tea. It’s like being offered liquid gold in these parts. We usually get offered dirt in a cup at Ms. Jones’s house.”
“Oh aye, tell me about it.” Dafydd shuddered. “Since I was staying for a few days I thought I’d buy a few of the comforts of home, see, tea being one of them.”
“What are the others?”
With a glance at Meinwen, Dafydd produced a plate. “Biscuit?”
Peters grinned. “Don’t mind if I do.”
White waved them away, drawing out his notebook. “The second autopsy of John Fenstone revealed a couple of details we hadn’t noticed before, primarily because the deterioration of the body precluded a full visual examination of the relevant area.”
“You didn’t look for evidence of foul play, you mean.” Dafydd reached for a biscuit.
White ignored him. “There appears to be a second set of antemortem strangulation marks, not consistent with the rope he was found with. We believe these marks indicate an arm held around the neck of the deceased, possibly to subdue him before he was hung from the loft of his house.”
“He really was murdered then.” Meinwen took several shallow breaths. It was fabulous they were taking her seriously. Jimmy would be relieved, too. “Any clues who?”
“We are proceeding with inquiries.”
“That’d be a no, then.” Dafydd reached forward for his tea.
“Any news on Richard’s killing?”
“Nothing yet, but it’s still early days. We have found evidence at the crime scene but nothing conclusive.”
“What sort of evidence?” Meinwen imagined cigarette butts and fingerprints.
White nodded to Peters and the sergeant took out his notes again. “Several footprints, a cigarette butt and a slight scraping of blood. We’re having the DNA tested.”
“When will you get the results back?”
“Within the week, with any luck.”
“A week?” Dafydd leaned forward. “It’s only a minute or two on the telly.
“A week unless they’re backlogged.” White grimaced. “Then it could be up to a month. This isn’t television, sir. We don’t have fancy gadgets to advance the plot. On the other hand, we’ve discovered the murder weapon was stolen from Laverstone Manor.”
“That’s where you were going when we saw you yesterday. So if you find the thief there’s a good chance you find the murderer as well.”
“One would hope so. There were no fingerprints at the scene other than those you’d expect to be there. Mr. Waterman and his family and their guests.”
“Guests?” Meinwen tried to imagine who the people at the manor might have as guests. They were people who generally kept themselves to themselves. The solicitor, Gillian du Point, being one of them.
Peters glanced at his notes. “Richard Godwin, Mary Markhew and Peter Numan. They were there from seven until midnight on the fourteenth. The break-in happened on the night of the fifteenth.”
Meinwen stood. “It
wouldn’t have been any of them, surely? I’d trust any of them with my life. Was anything else stolen?”
“Several pieces of costume jewelry and, er, a crossbow. There was, however, a trace of blood on the window the thief broke to gain access. We sent that for testing and should have the results–”
“In a week or two.” Meinwen shook her head. “And that’s only assuming you can match the DNA to a suspect, which you also haven’t got.”
“True, but we have lines of investigation.”
“Then here’s another for you.” Meinwen hissed and pressed her hand to her side again. “John Fenstone was well acquainted with Richard Godwin to the point where I believe they were lovers. John Fenstone also moonlighted as a male prostitute and professional submissive at the Hotel Luminaria. I suggest you get a warrant for their CCTV footage, not that I think it will show you his killer. Catherine Godwin was supposedly estranged from her husband but was secretly reconciled with him and Richard was heavily in debt and in secret negotiations with an unknown businessman to sell the rights to his father’s work.” She took as deep a breath as she was able. “Did I miss anything out?”
“Mary Markhew had insured his life for a goodly sum.” Dafydd grinned. “A Godwin sum, even.”
“Yes, she did, and Catherine Godwin has a large sum coming thanks to his death, too, though I really don’t think she had anything to do with it. She was very shocked when I told her of his death.”
“You told her?”
“Yes, that’s why I was walking through Chervil Court so late.”
“Is there any part of my investigation you haven’t interfered with, Ms. Jones?”
“One more thing. Jimmy was with me when I discovered John’s involvement with Richard and that was the night before last.”
“The night Richard Godwin was killed?”
“Quite.” Meinwen hissed through her teeth.
“Anything I can get for you, Meinwen?” Dafydd hovered behind Sergeant Peters. “Painkillers, perhaps?”