by Rachel Green
He waited by the back door while Peter fetched the key, then followed him inside. “What if Jimmy comes back?”
“Why would he? He has the luxury flat in Chervil. Why would he come here this late at night?”
“Well, he’s obviously doing the place up to sell.” He flicked on the light. “God. It looks so different without John here. Without his stuff. I wonder what he did with all the pictures.”
“Dumped them, I expect.” Peter went through into the hall. “We came to see the loft, remember?”
“Yes. Sorry.” Richard glanced around the kitchen. He felt unwelcome here, as if the house had moved on. “This is the first time I’ve been here since...you know.”
“Of course. Sorry.”
“There’s a torch here. Shall I bring it? Is there electricity in the loft?”
“No. I doubt it, anyway. Not in an old house like this. Best bring the torch.” He headed upstairs, Richard following. “See if you can spot the ladders.”
“Ladders?”
“He must have used ladders to get to the loft hatch.” Peter reached the top of the stairs and switched on the landing light. “Oh, never mind. They’re here.” He carried them out of the bedroom and set them up under the loft hatch. He turned back to Richard. “You’re sure you want to do this?”
“Of course. We need proof for the police.”
“Right.” Help me up, would you? I don’t think my leg’s up to the task.”
“Yes, sorry.” Richard hurried forward and steadied the ladder while Peter hauled himself up and slid the hatch cover up and into the loft. Once Peter had a good hold of the edge he climbed the ladder himself to provide an extra foothold for Peter’s wounded leg. Peter ended up half through the trapdoor, his stomach on the dusty loft floor and his legs dangling down. With a twist he hauled himself further in. “Pass me the torch.”
Richard stood two rungs from the top and handed it up. “Here. Can you see anything?”
He could see the torch flashing about. Glimpses of Peter’s legs and feet and occasional snapshots of the mortar holding the tiles in place.
“Nothing.” Peter sounded disappointed. “There’s nothing here. No Wait! Look at this.”
Richard craned his neck. “What?”
“There are scratches in the floor, but I can’t make them out.”
“Try, Peter.”
“I am.” His face appeared at the trap. “I can’t. I think they’re in French or something.”
“French?” Richard frowned. “Get back a moment. Let me have a look.” He stood on the top step, put his hands on the edge of the gap and pulled himself up.
The sudden constriction around his neck took him by surprise. It was only his quick reflexes that saved him. Instead of dropping back to the relative safety of the ladder, he forced his arms to straighten and tipped his weight into the darkness off the loft space, rolling onto his side to bring his legs up before clawing at his neck. His movement had loosened it a bit but in the light from the torch he could see Peter reaching for a piece of plastic coated rope. “Peter. He’s here. Help me.”
Peter grabbed the rope and the constriction around his neck worsened. Realization dawned. “It’s not Jimmy at all.”
“No. Sorry.” Peter darted around to the opposite side of the hole, his leg no longer troubling him as it had a few moments ago. He vanished in the darkness. “Nothing personal. I loved you so fucking much and yet you’d go with anyone before me.” He yanked hard on the rope, pulling Richard half over the gap. “John bloody Fenstone. Catherine.”
Richard braced himself with one hand while he struggled against the loop of rope with the other. He only had a few seconds before one hand or the other gave way and he either strangled to death or fell though the hole and hung. In the dim light coming up from the landing he could see the square of wood that had sealed the loft opening. He let go of the line and grabbed the edge of the wood, twisting to add momentum to the blow. By lucky chance it hit Peter in his injured leg, causing him to yell and loosen his grip on the rope. Richard arched his back, grabbed the rope with both hands and pulled.
An uninjured man wouldn’t have stumbled, but the damage to Peter’s thigh had left him weak. His leg buckled and pitching him head first through the trapdoor and onto the ladder. He’d have survived if his necklace hadn’t caught on the safety catch, twisting his head before the chain broke and sending him head over heels down the stairwell. Richard heard the snap of a cracking bone, the clatter of a shoe hitting the hall floor below and then silence.
He pulled the rope from around his neck and looked cautiously over the edge of the loft hatch.
Peter’s body lay at the bottom of the stairs, his head twisted at an odd angle. One foot was bare. His necklace lay on the floor by the balustrade and the stepladder had fallen on its side, too far for Richard to reach from the loft.
Richard took several deep breaths and sat up, dangling his legs over the edge of the hatch. He pulled out his phone, looked up Meinwen in his list of contacts and dialed before he remembered she’d lost her mobile. He closed the connection and dialed the police instead.
Chapter 37
Meinwen banged on the door of her cottage to no avail. She’d left her keys behind, sure Dafydd would be at home on her return. But no. He’d gone out. Where, she didn’t know. There was no note, no apology, no “just nipped to the shops, back in a minute.” Of course, he may well have sent her a text or left her a message on the phone she didn’t have. She’d give him the benefit of the doubt for now.
She went around the side of the house to the conservatory. There was a stone to one side of the herb bed, a piece of slate she’d found on Penny Moor. She’d hollowed the earth beneath it and put a key inside.
She felt for the key, her fingers coming across something hard and furry. She lifted it out and held it up to the light filtering into the garden from the rectory next door. A mouse, long dead and desiccated to mummy status. She laid it on the stone and felt again, this time finding the conservatory key.
With that open she was able to put on a light and tilt the large Swiss cheese plant in its stoneware basin. Beneath that was a key to the kitchen door and she was, finally, inside. She closed the door, switched on the light, dropped her bag on one of the kitchen chairs and eased off her coat, wincing momentarily as she twisted her ribs.
She took a deep breath, checked how much water was in the kettle and switched it on. How nice it was to have her house to herself again. She set out a teapot and finger bowl cups, purely for the pleasure of enjoying a cup of chai without anyone suggesting she add milk and sugar.
She sat at the table while the kettle boiled and wondered what had happened to Dafydd. She hoped he was all right. She fetched her laptop and logged into her mobile phone account to checked texts sent and received. Nothing since she lost the phone was listed on the ‘sent’ tab but as she suspected, Dafydd had sent her a text at a quarter to six: “Nipped out for some tea. Key under the blue flowerpot.” It was marked as undelivered.
It was times like this she sincerely hoped the phone, or at least the SIM card, had been thrown away. She didn’t want the man who attacked her to know details about her house. She hovered over the Cancel SIM button, aware it was what she should do, even if she didn’t want to. She let it be. She was close to catching the killer. If they didn’t find her phone by then, she’d get a new one. She sent a reply to Dafydd to tell him she was home then deleted the message from the web site, just to be on the safe side.
She made tea when the kettle boiled. Whiled it brewed she popped outside to retrieve the house key from the blue flowerpot, the carriage lamp at the front door flicking on as she passed its sensor.
“Ms. Jones?”
She jumped at the voice, peering into the darkness beyond the circle of electric light. She had a long front garden and the streetlights beyond served only to throw the speaker into silhouette. Her heart skipped a beat and she glanced back at her front door, wondering if she could get ins
ide and close it before he got to her. “Who is it? Who’s there?”
“It’s me, Ms. Jones. DS Peters? I said I’d have a look in unclaimed lost property for a mobile for you and I’ve brought it round.”
“Oh.” She let out a whoosh of air in relief. “I’m sorry. I thought you were...someone else.”
“That’s all right. It’s a common reaction after being mugged.” He came closer so she could confirm his identity. “You should get a security light put up. These little ones are pretty but they don’t do a lot for security other than to discourage kids from playing Thunder and Lightning.”
“Playing what?” Meinwen retrieved the front door key. “Won’t you come in?”
“Er...” He glanced at his watch. “Just for a minute then.” He followed her inside. “Thunder and Lightning? You thunder on the door and then run like lightning? Stupid really, but we used to play it as kids. Don’t tell DI White that, mind.”
“Oh! We called it ‘Rat-a-Tat Ginger’ on account of the color of the council doors.” Meinwen closed the door behind him. “Will you take tea?”
“No ta. It’s after seven already and the missus will be expecting me home.” He fished a padded envelope out of his pocket. “I had a look at the phones and this was the best of the ones we had in. Touch screen, ten megapixel camera with eight times optical zoom and, if you put a SIM card in it, internet access. You can download apps for anything on this. Street maps, earth view, anything you like.”
“I see. Fabulous.” She half smiled at him. “I have no idea how to work it.”
“Look, the model number’s on the back. You can download the user manual and the software online and away you go. The only thing is I didn’t know what network you were on so I just picked you up a pay-as-you-go SIM card to be going on with. You’ll need to get a charger and a computer cable for it, too, but they’ll only be a couple of quid each online.”
“Fabulous, Sergeant. I don’t know how to thank you.”
“All part of the service. Give me a call if you need any help with it. I’ve got the same model myself, that’s how I knew it was a good one.” He pulled his out of his pocket to show her. “Right. Must be off before my dinner goes in the dog.”
Meinwen opened the door for him. “Thank you, Sergeant, honestly. I take back all the bad things I said about you when you weren’t here.”
He paused on the doorstep, frowning. “What sort of bad things?”
“Don’t twist your drawers. I’m having you on.”
“Oh. Right.” He gave her a puzzled smile and headed down the path. “All right?”
“What?” She squinted into the darkness but it was only Dafydd, coming back with a shopping bag in each hand.
“What was the rozzer doing here? You’ve not been hammered again, have you?”
“Na. He came to give a phone to replace the one I lost.”
“Magic. Is it any good?” He turned sideways to get back into the house. “Blimey, though. I forgot you’d lost yours. I sent you a message on it.”
“I thought you might. I looked on the web and saw it. Good job, really, else the mugger would have known where the key was.” She tilted the blue pot to retrieve it.
“Sorry. I didn’t give it a thought.” He went into the kitchen with the bags. “Have you made some tea or do you want some proper?”
“I’ll have my own, thanks. I don’t want to get too used to caffeine. It’s all right once in a while but not all the time, eh?”
“If you say so.” Dafydd carried a tray out with her teapot and cup. “You get the weight off, love.” He put the tray down and plumped the pillows on the overstuffed armchair. “I’ll make the dinner while you have a rest.”
“You’re going to cook?” Meinwen lowered herself into the chair, mindful of her cracked ribs. “I’m impressed. You’d make someone a good wife.”
“Only if I learn to clean up after myself. The kitchen looked like the whole Glamorgan choir dropped in wi’ their sheep last time I cooked.” He went into the kitchen. “I hope you’re hungry for a taste of home.”
“Boil in the bag fish? Mam thought that was the height of luxury.”
“Boil in the bag? I wouldn’t dare.” His voice was punctuated by the clatter of water pouring into the steel sink. “Only the best for you, love. Beef and roasties, only without the beef on account of your aversion to meat.”
“So, a plate of roast potatoes then?” Meinwen shuffled as upright as the chair allowed. “You’ll give me a heart attack.”
“Not just potatoes. I got some lentil rissoles and Portobello mushrooms with Gavenney blue cheese.”
Meinwen finished making the chai. What with the sergeant’s visit and the return of Dafydd it was thick as pudding and cold as toast. She put it down again. “You’re spoiling me.”
“Well, you deserve a bit of pampering. Gallivanting all over the place and you with all your aches and pains. Have you caught your murderer yet?”
“Not yet,” Meinwen arranged her napkin over the front of her blouse. “Though we’re closing in. Solving a crime is like a solving a jigsaw puzzle. First you have to find all the pieces and then you have to fit them all together. I’m pretty sure I’ve found all the edges. I just have to piece together the middle.”
“Just so long as you don’t end up doing the sky. I always thought that was the fiddliest bit.”
“It’s always me that does the sky, Dafydd. Nobody else has the patience.”
The sound of the water stopped. “I’ve got the patience.” He came out of the kitchen and lowered himself to the carpet at her feet. “You just need to put the right lug into the right hole.”
“True...” Meinwen stroked his hair, pressing against the wiry curls.
“Actually, I think putting the right tab in the right slot can be quite rewarding.” He lifted her skirt and slid his hands up her legs. She wriggled when he snagged her knickers, lifting herself enough to allow him to pull them down her legs to her ankles. She lifted her feet in turn to shake them off.
Gently he pushed against her thighs and she shuffled forward to the edge of the chair, the better to spread her legs. His head dipped down to her labia, and the heat of his breath was enough to make her clench her vaginal muscles, sending a flood of endorphins up and a wave of fluid down.
If his warm breath was enough to get her started, the sensation of his tongue rolling over her soft folds was enough to make her heart beat faster and her buttocks clench. He licked upward, flicking under the fold protecting the clitoris and across the hard nub, making her gasp. She lifted her legs and clamped them around his back, drawing him closer as her urgency rose. She hadn’t been bothered about an orgasm in the bath but now the urgency was like a bailiff banging on the door. She kneaded his hair with her hands, pressing his head right into her until his tongue was deep inside, his teeth pressed against her pelvic bone and his nose...his delicious, rubbery nose...massaged her clitoris.
She gave a shriek as she came, pushing his head away as she convulsed and became suddenly over sensitive. She relaxed her leg grip and he leaned back, kneeling upright with the toothy smile she remembered so well from ’Dovey school days. She brought one foot round to feel the erection straining to be free of his trousers.
The house phone rang and he groaned. “Ignore it, cariad, please.”
“I can’t. It might be important. Pass me the phone.”
He reached across and picked it up, flicking the wires to make it reach.
She took a deep breath and answered. “Yes?”
“Ms. Jones?” Sergeant Peters sounded stressed. “We’ve just got a call from Richard Godwin. He’s confessed to killing Peter Numan.”
Chapter 38
Jimmy pulled up as close as he could to the house. Ashgate Road was blocked by an ambulance and several police vehicles, lights blazing out of number fifteen as if Jimmy had shares in Southern Electric.
“We’re too late.” Meinwen peered through the windscreen. “I bet they’ve arrested him
already.”
“I did my best.” Jimmy unclipped his seat belt. “I picked you up as fast as I could.”
Meinwen struggled out of her seat belt and opened the door. “Come on.”
“Wait.” Dafydd slipped out of the back seat and helped her out. Jimmy waited for them before locking the car. They hurried to the house together, managing to get as far as the kitchen door before they were stopped.
“You have to let us in.” Meinwen fumbled for her missing phone. “This is the owner of the house and I’m a known associate of Detective-inspector White.”
“Sarge?” The uniformed officer called into the house. “There are three people here name-dropping DI White.”
“Are there?” Sergeant Peters appeared in the doorway. “Ms. Jones, of course. And entourage. You’d better come in, Mr. Godwin was asking for you. He’s in the hall.” He paced a hand on Jimmy’s chest. “Sorry, sir, you two will have to wait here.”
“But it’s my house.”
“And it’s my crime scene, and guess which of us has priority?” He stepped to on side to let Meinwen through. “You know where it is?”
“Of course I do.” She crossed the kitchen to the hall where a paramedic was tending to a body. It was lying half on the stairs, shielded from her view by the medic, one foot without a shoe at a crooked angle. As she made her way toward him he murmured something to a police officer and shook his head. She stumbled forward, rounding the side of the paramedic until she could see who it was. Peter’s head lay almost perpendicular to his spine. She looked away, feeling the hot tickle of gorge rising in her throat. She swallowed it down.
“You’ll be fine, sir, though I do advise you to get it checked over at the hospital. We can take you in, if you like.”
Meinwen looked up. Richard was at the top of the stairs being examined by another paramedic and questioned by a uniformed officer. “Richard! Are you all right?”
He squinted down the stairs, rubbing his throat with one hand. “Meinwen. Good of you to come. This was John’s house. It’s where he...you know.”