MURDER IN PEMBROKESHIRE an absolutely gripping crime mystery full of twists (Tyrone Swift Detective Book 8)

by GRETTA MULROONEY

  He placed the bucket by the sink and made his way over to Cuddfan, the Brinkworths’ house. There was no answer when he knocked at the door, so he followed the brick herringbone path around the side of the house to an egg-shaped timber building with a mossy green roof and full-length windows, painted a sunny orange. He could see Guy Brinkworth inside, seated at a bench. He was wearing an LED headband and goggles, his head bent over his work. Swift had prepared his excuse for visiting and tapped gently on a window. Guy looked up, removed the headband, pushed the goggles to the top of his head and opened the door.

  He said discouragingly, ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘I hope so. I’d like to buy Joyce, my stepmother, a piece of jewellery for Christmas, and it would be good to get her one from an individual jeweller, rather than something mass-produced. So, as I’m here and you make jewellery . . .’

  ‘Oh, I see, a paying customer. Well, you’d better step in.’

  Inside, the studio was bright with natural light and furnished with two identical workbenches and height-adjustable upholstered chairs, one black and one red, at either side of the room. The walls were covered with fitted drawers in graduated sizes, racks of tools, organiser boxes and flexible lamps. Glass-fronted display cabinets contained a wide selection of bracelets, rings, necklaces, earrings, pendants and brooches. They gleamed and winked in the light.

  Guy stood staring down his nose, with his usual peevish expression. He wore a twisted silver torc around his neck.

  Swift smiled. ‘I’m so sorry to interrupt your work. I must be a nuisance. It seemed too good an opportunity to pass up, given that I’m not sure how long I’ll be here.’

  Guy was just a tad more gracious, even if he still sounded grudging. ‘Of course. I was working, and consultations are usually by appointment, but you’re here now. What did you have in mind?’

  Swift hadn’t a clue. He pictured Joyce, his stepmother, who liked gaudy, floral outfits and brightly coloured accessories. ‘My stepmother likes wearing brooches. Do you make those?’

  ‘I can make anything you like. Your heart’s desire, as they say. Here, take a seat.’ He pulled a chair out. ‘My jewellery ethos is based on the Bauhaus style — beauty and practicality.’ He gestured at a plain gold circle on his workbench. ‘I’m working on a gold and diamond bangle at the moment. It’s a wedding anniversary gift. It’s simple and strong, like the lady who’s going to wear it.’

  Swift nodded enthusiastically. Anything to keep Guy engaged. ‘That sounds good to me.’

  ‘I presume your stepmother doesn’t live around here?’

  ‘No, she’s in London.’

  ‘I can’t meet her, then, and get a sense of the person. In that situation, I usually find that it’s best to have a brainstorm and take it from there. I presume we’re talking about a mature lady?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  Guy picked up a pen and notepad. ‘Let’s look at metals. Silver, gold, copper, pewter, stainless steel or platinum? There are others, but they’re the most popular.’

  Swift hadn’t a clue. ‘Gold.’

  ‘Okay. Now some of the most popular stones — agate, jade, garnet, moonstone, sapphire, pearl, diamond, ruby?’

  ‘I’ve seen her wearing red stones,’ Swift said. He seemed to be wandering into uncertain territory.

  ‘Garnet or ruby, then. Garnet is more economical, depending on your budget and how fond you are of her.’ Guy gave a sly grin. ‘Is she a wicked stepmother?’

  ‘Not at all. Infuriating and overwhelming at times, but she means well.’

  Guy sneered. ‘That’s damning with faint praise. It’s the kind of sentiment Elinor comes out with. Heaven save me from people who mean well.’

  ‘Really? Surely good intentions help to make the world go round. It would be a worse place without them.’ Although even as he said it, he knew that Guy had touched a sore spot and he was being a hypocrite where Joyce was concerned. He’d never quite forgiven her for replacing his dead mother and outliving his father, and he didn’t visit her as often as he should. Her questions about his love life were intrusive, and she made it clear that she found his odd career change puzzling. After half an hour of her company, he was always desperate to escape.

  Guy laughed. ‘You’re more sophisticated than you pretend. There’s a quote from Margaret Thatcher: “No one would remember the Good Samaritan if he’d only had good intentions. He had money as well.” Now, what shape brooch would your stepmother like? I can make geometric, circular, oval, square, bird-shaped, lozenge, trefoil — or perhaps an animal?’

  It was the first time that Swift had seen Guy unwind. He, on the other hand, was bewildered. ‘Can I think about that?’ He clutched at a passing idea. ‘She likes otters. She has one in stone, sitting by her garden pond.’

  Guy rolled his eyes. ‘Rather an otter than a gnome with a fishing rod, anyway.’ He tapped the pad. ‘That’s an idea to start with. Tell you what, I’ll show you a few design pages. If you don’t like anything you see, I can do some illustrations, based on what you’ve given me. I’m sure we can make something that she’ll love.’

  ‘Sounds good, thanks. How much does a piece like that cost?’

  ‘Depends on the carat and the stones. You can go all out Burton and Taylor with twenty-four carat gold, but I’d recommend nine carat yellow gold. It’s strong and durable, suited to a brooch. If we went with that and a garnet surround, it would be around £150.’

  That was a lot more than Swift usually paid for a gift for Joyce, but it would assuage his guilt at avoiding her as much as possible and for not having seen her since Easter. ‘That’s fine.’

  Guy opened a deep drawer and removed a ring binder. He leafed through, and extracted several clear cellophane pockets, handing them to Swift. ‘Have a look at these. They’ll give you a general idea and then we can go into it in more detail.’

  Swift started flicking through the designs while Guy reached for a pencil and drew in a notebook. He waited a few moments and then said, ‘This is a lovely part of the world. You must be content in this community.’

  ‘Content is too strong a word,’ Guy answered. ‘We’re here now and settled. It’s a beautiful area and I love being near the sea. I like it for the peace and quiet and being able to work in this studio, but I can take or leave most of the people here — preferably leave. I avoid them, stick to my work, gardening and cycling.’

  ‘They’re not your cup of tea?’

  Guy laughed. ‘Suki’s okay, if a tad wishy-washy. Bryn’s an arrogant fool, Kat’s emotionally retarded, Bruno’s in a world of his own most of the time, and as for the Merchants! Where to begin? Jasmine’s a pompous bitch. She wears the trousers and Peter’s her doormat. They could do a lot more with this place, bring in more interest and income and it would benefit us all. We get by okay but Tir Melys is a tad stagnant.’

  Swift had heard this kind of comment several times now. ‘Why don’t they do more?’

  ‘No idea. Status quo, I suppose. People have made various suggestions at the colloquy. Kat wanted to set up foraging groups and dawn chorus walks, Bryn was keen on running a course on sustainable smallholding and Suki fancied setting up classes on Shamanism. Jasmine’s always batted them away.’

  ‘Must be frustrating.’

  ‘I suppose. I don’t get involved. I’ve no wish to conduct extracurricular activities. This business keeps us going nicely, so I don’t pay much attention to any of them. I eat supper with them all once a week to keep things sweet, which is pure purgatory. The quality of their conversation makes me yawn. Sometimes, I struggle to stay awake. Elinor spends more time at the Bivium and goes visiting, but then she’s keen on what she regards as stimulating dialogue.’

  Swift shook his head. ‘I couldn’t live among people I thought so little of.’

  Guy held his pad up and away from him, regarding it. ‘Like I said, the environment here suits me.’

  ‘Do you ever wonder about their opinion of you?’

  �
�No. I’m not interested in other people’s opinions about me, especially when they’re not my intellectual equals.’

  Swift had to stifle a laugh. ‘The people here might not drive me away, but the not-quite-hot-enough water would. Why is the shower always tepid?’

  ‘That’s the air source heat pump. It extracts heat from the air outside. We’re used to the water temperature, but it can come as a bit of a shock when you’ve been used to traditional gas or electric heating. Visitors always comment on it. The upside is that you’re benefiting the planet.’

  Swift supposed he’d just have to accept his water-induced goose pimples in a good cause. He got up and studied the display cases. ‘Did Afan ever buy any of your jewellery?’

  Guy’s pencil slowed. ‘Can’t recall that he did, unless he got something from Elinor. He was a favourite with the ladies here, with his oh-so-gentle ways.’

  ‘You didn’t like him either, despite the fact that he was highly intelligent? He had a Master’s in criminal law. Surely you’d have found him someone you could converse with. An intellectual equal.’

  If Guy clocked the sarcasm, he didn’t react. ‘Did he have a Master’s? He never mentioned it. I can’t say I noticed his brains and no, I didn’t like him much. I’m sure the ladies found him emotionally intelligent. I didn’t have much to do with him. He was one of those weak, colourless men who hide their feebleness with a grave expression.’

  ‘You don’t mince your words, do you? He was my friend. I didn’t find him hollow.’

  Guy glanced up and said pointedly, ‘You asked me if I liked him. DI Weber asked me the same question and I gave her the same answer. I can’t be bothered skirting around social niceties, and I’m not one of those people who think that you have to speak well of the dead, no matter what they were actually like. Afan didn’t care for me much either, so he was an unlikely customer. He didn’t seem the jewellery type. I never saw him wear any, not even a watch.’

  ‘How did you get into making jewellery?’

  ‘Through Elinor. She was doing a diploma in silversmithing when I was studying for my doctorate. I tried my hand at it and found I had a real aptitude. I was planning to have an academic career, but I changed my mind when I discovered this unexpected flair. Elinor says I’m more talented than she is, and I believe I agree. She doesn’t have my concentration. Certainly, I sell a lot more than she does.’

  ‘I suppose Elinor won’t have so much time for working once you adopt. Unless you’re planning to co-parent fifty-fifty, that is.’

  Swift had tried to keep his tone neutral but Guy sounded suspicious. ‘I’ll leave the day-to-day childcare to Elinor. One of us has to make a living, and I’m best suited to that. That’s if the adoption ever actually happens.’

  ‘Oh? Why wouldn’t it?’

  Guy was off on his favourite topic. ‘The social worker doesn’t like me. You can tell poor old Terry’s got a chip on his shoulder about my academic success, and he doesn’t like the way I refuse to tick all his little boxes. He expects us to toe the line and be grateful. Elinor does — she sucks up to him, gives him coffee and cake and does all her homework like a good girl, but I question and challenge him. Once bureaucratic idiots like that take against you, you’re done for.’ Guy smirked. ‘Terry sits there with his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish.’

  Swift could almost taste his dislike of this arrogant man. ‘It has to be a rigorous process, surely. The social worker has a big responsibility.’

  ‘Yes, which is why I’d expect to be visited by someone who’s literate and articulate, rather than a guy who’s educationally challenged.’ He stared through his pale lashes. ‘Now, I’m a busy man and I need to make the most of Elinor’s absence. Once she’s back, her stream of consciousness will no doubt resume. I have ear defenders for when she’s at work, but somehow, her verbal onslaught still distracts me and Fwankie always has to join us. Sometimes I come to work and find that she’s entertaining Caris and her friend Gwyn. Her coven of gossips. Much as I’m enjoying this chat, have you seen anything you like?’

  Swift pointed at random to a garnet brooch. ‘Could you make that, but in an otter shape?’

  ‘Certainly. I assume you’re leaving us soon, so you’d need to pay up front before you do and give me your details. There’s no great rush, as it’s a Christmas gift. I’ll make sure you have it by the beginning of December.’

  ‘I might not be leaving that soon. Afan had no next of kin, so I’d like to do what I can regarding his death and the aftermath.’

  Guy picked up his LED headband. ‘Please yourself. Can you make sure the door’s closed properly on your way out? It sticks sometimes.’

  Swift went back to Afan’s. He found a note from Suki slipped under the door.

  DI Weber rang the landline and said can you contact her.

  He made a coffee, mulling over his conversation with Guy. The encounter had made him want to have a wash. The man interested him in an appalled kind of way. He appeared to dislike his wife intensely, and most of the people he lived among. He didn’t even like his wife’s dog and the way he had mimicked Elinor’s use of Fwankie was vindictive. Swift suspected that he felt deeply inadequate, and his sneering was a form of defence. He hid his fears by bullying and undermining his wife, and claiming intellectual superiority and artistic talent.

  He finished his coffee and decided to drive to find a phone signal. He didn’t want anyone at the Bivium overhearing his phone conversation with Sofia Weber. He drove to the nearest headland where he’d noticed a small car park and saw that he had a reasonable signal. Sofia answered and said she’d ring him back in a few minutes. He took his binoculars from the glove compartment and watched the sea, but there were no seals or dolphins visible today. The wind was high, buffeting the waves restlessly. He pointed his phone at the sky, took a photo of the delicate, wispy shreds of cloud chasing across the deep blue and emailed it to Ruth for Branna.

  Lovely, silky cirrus clouds. The whitest cloud in the sky, which rhymes with you’re the apple of my eye.

  When Sofia rang back, she said, ‘Sorry about that. I was talking to Spence and I needed to get rid of him. He came up with something useful, though. He’s a local, so he has handy contacts, which occasionally compensates for his lack of initiative.’ She groaned. ‘Sorry, had to move my sling. Spence had a chat with a mate of his who’s on ticket sales at the station. The sales guy remembered Afan buying a return to Cardiff on two occasions recently. He couldn’t recall what day of the week. He asked a couple of his colleagues as well, and one of them was certain that she’d at least twice sold Afan tickets to Cardiff. She remembered it was on Fridays because she was doing the weekly shop after work. Also, she mentioned that Caris Murray had travelled on the Cardiff train on one of those evenings. She knows Caris from school. They had a brief chat and Caris said she was going to spend the weekend with an aunt.’

  ‘It could be a coincidence that they were on the same train, except that there’s no such thing.’

  ‘I agree. I’m going to talk to Caris again. I’ll give her a sweet invite to come to the station, see if I can rattle her.’

  ‘I saw her after you left last night, and I followed her on my bike to where she lives.’

  Sofia laughed. ‘I’m not sure you should be telling me that you stalk women on a bike.’

  ‘I don’t do it habitually, so you needn’t bring me in for questioning. It didn’t do me much good. I asked Caris about Afan going to Cardiff, and she said she knew nothing about it. Then she told me to mind my own business about the loan he gave her. I had a slightly more useful encounter with Guy Brinkworth this morning. He made it clear that he disliked Afan, although he extends that antipathy to most people at Tir Melys.’

  ‘Yeah, including his wife.’

  ‘He’s very wound up about the adoption. He seems to resent the intrusiveness of the process, and he’s doing his best to sabotage it. There’s something about his behaviour that puzzles me.’

  ‘I
sensed there was something else under the surface too,’ Sofia said. ‘Given that he dictates to his wife about most subjects, why not just put his foot down and say he doesn’t want a child?’

  ‘A couple of people have commented that Guy was wary of Afan, who openly criticised him for bullying Elinor. Maybe Guy was jealous of the fact that Afan was supportive to Elinor, and his spite and annoyance boiled over. He was out and about that afternoon, he had opportunity.’

  ‘It’s a scenario. But just conjecture for now. I wish the bloody forensics would come back to me. There’s a gastric bug going around the lab, so everything’s been delayed.’

  She rang off, saying that she had to get checked out at the hospital and might be there for hours. Swift watched the wind teasing and driving the sea for a while longer. It was congenial, working alongside Sofia, even if he had concerns about how pain was affecting her. That cut and thrust, the exchange of ideas and information with a colleague was the one thing he sometimes missed now he was working alone. His thoughts snaked back to Guy Brinkworth. If he had stabbed Afan, he’d have placed the grave goods around him with scorn. It was just the kind of supercilious act that would appeal to him — aren’t I clever?

  Chapter 12

  Bruno had asked Swift if he’d lend a hand with the bees. Swift had been uncertain, pointing out that he knew nothing about beekeeping. He was also somewhat alarmed at the prospect. He wished he’d never watched Swarm, the film about killer bees invading Texas. Bruno had reassured him that he needn’t do anything with the hives. When he arrived, Bruno was chatting to Bryn Price, the two of them leaning close. They were like conspirators, moving apart as he approached. Bryn said he’d leave them to get stung to death.

  ‘Ignore him,’ Bruno said. ‘He’s a wind-up artist. Trapping wasps can be your job today. Afan used to do it every autumn.’ He smiled. ‘He called it the “Waspathon”. Wasps are sugar junkies, and they’re busy this time of year because aphids and other pests that they eat have died out. That’s why they’re always bothering picnickers, and worker wasps head for the hives. If one gets in, it’ll bite a bee in half and carry the abdomen away to feed to its colony as well as stealing the honey. Wear Afan’s protective gear, you need to whenever you’re working around an apiary.’