‘I’m dyin’ to see this virtual reality place! I’m gonna go in the horror movie mansion.’
‘I’m ’avin’ a great big burger as soon as we get there, I don’t care if it gives me a fat belly!’
He’d never been a light-hearted teenager. He’d gone straight from relief at not developing spots, like most of his school friends, to shouldering grief. His mother had died when he was fifteen, and her illness and loss had cast a shadow that he’d tried to ease by rowing his boat on the Thames. From what he’d seen and heard, he couldn’t imagine that Caris had ever been like one of these happy-go-lucky girls. She’d spent her adolescence concerned about Morgan and her mother.
He realised that there was no chance of talking to Sofia Weber in this din and if he left his seat, he’d never get back to it, so he texted her instead, to explain that he was on a crowded train and what he was doing. He asked her to check Calvin Callender on the PNC. She replied within minutes.
Okay, I’m at the station for a while today, so keep me posted. Spence left a message on Caris’s phone yesterday when he couldn’t raise her, but she hasn’t replied. Have had some interesting info back from Canadian police about Bruno. Talk later.
By the time the train meandered into Cardiff, Swift was desperate to flee from his forced immersion in the teenage world. The voluble girl called Betsy sitting next him had held court to her friends when she wasn’t slinking up and down the aisle. He now knew far more than he needed to about Gareth and Daisy’s love life, which was a rollercoaster of arguing, splitting up and getting back together. He’d also been educated in the thrills of Laser Quest and Storm Disco. Then there was Bellissima, the makeover and photo shoot shop, where Betsy was going to have her lashes dyed. She’d also benefit from an expert cosmetic consultation with skin tone matching and free samples — ‘An’ I don’t care what my mam says, I’m gettin’ a skin peel.’
He stepped from the train like an escapee from a life sentence and checked the map on his phone while screeching girls raced past him to the ticket barrier. Roath was about a forty-minute walk. He bought a coffee on the station concourse and set off, glad to be on the move.
Ninian Road was wide and tree-lined, opposite a huge park. The small Co-op was on a corner and busy with customers. Swift leafed through magazines, waiting for a chance to talk to one of the assistants at the counter. When the queue had dwindled, he took out the photo of Caris and Morgan and approached a woman who was free.
‘Hi, I wonder if you can help me. I said I’d drop by on some friends when I was in town, but I’ve lost their address and they’re not answering their phones. They live on this street. They’re called Caris and Morgan. Caris has mentioned that she shops in here. Would you recognise them from this photo?’
He wouldn’t have believed his story, but the woman was friendly and eager to help. He got the impression that having something different to talk about had brightened up her day. She studied the photo carefully but shook her head.
‘They don’t ring any bells. There’s loads of flats on this street with lots of coming and going, especially with Airbnb. We get so many people in and out of here, it’s hard to remember them.’ She showed the photo to the young man at the next till, but he also shook his head.
Swift was about to leave it there when he paused. He took the photo of himself and Afan from his pocket and passed it to her. ‘How about the man with me in this photo?’
She nodded immediately, tapping it. ‘I recognise him. Haven’t seen him in a long while now, but he used to pop in to get a sandwich. He was friendly, very polite. I remember him because he asked me about the area. He was looking at houses to buy. You’re a bit younger here!’
‘Don’t remind me. You wouldn’t know which house he was visiting?’
She smiled, her cheeks creasing into deep dimples. ‘Not the number, no. The reason he sticks in my mind is because we had a laugh. He’d seen a house he liked, and it had a pink stone pig outside on the wall by the steps. That tickled him, and he said that he might create a family crest with a pig rampant. I can’t say if that’s the place he bought, mind, or even if he bought anything around here at all, because I didn’t see him again after a while.’
‘How long ago was that?’
‘You’ve got me there. I’ve worked here for ever. At least five years ago, probably more. Sorry, but there’s people waiting.’
Swift set off along the street. The houses were Victorian, large and handsome, and in good condition. He could see from the numbers of bins and doorbells that most of them were multiple occupancy and unless he spied a pink pig, finding Morgan and Caris would be difficult. He’d have to do a property search online or wait for Sofia to come up with information. He walked for a good ten minutes, crossing busy intersections. The park opposite was teeming with runners, cyclists, sunbathers, dog walkers and a football game. The houses grew larger and were set back further from the road. Then he saw it — a large, fat pig curled on top of a stone pillar by a set of steep steps, its snout in the air. It was blue now, but still amusing, with a kind of porcine dignity.
The house was three-storey and imposing, with two tall brick chimneys. It was set on a steep incline, built of grey and cream granite. The deep bay windows were edged with inset geometric designs on the first two storeys. The path to the front door bisected a well-kept lawn. Six black bins stood in a neat row inside white iron railings. Swift could see that it would make a good investment. Perhaps this was where Afan had found a home for some of his money.
He climbed the eight steps to the solid front door, patting the pig’s head on the way. The stone was warm and rough. None of the six doorbells indicated a Griffith or Callender. He reached into his pocket for the set of keys he’d brought from Afan’s cottage, the ones labelled FD. They opened the door, confirming his hunch that he’d found what lay behind Afan’s ‘cloak-and-dagger’ comment to Amira. He closed the door quietly, locked it again, and pressed one bell randomly. There was no intercom, but after a short wait the door opened, revealing a tiny Japanese woman in a red minidress, with a slice of toast in her hand.
‘I’m so sorry to disturb you, but I’m calling on Morgan Callender and I can’t remember which number he lives at. He is expecting me.’
‘Number six, top floor,’ she said, turning away and vanishing down the hall, leaving him to close the door.
So much for home security. Swift stepped into a white-painted hall with cream and blue mosaic floor tiles. A noticeboard on the left-hand wall had information about bin collections and recycling. There was a post rack below it. A large fire extinguisher hung further down the hallway, beyond the brown-carpeted stairs.
Swift climbed the stairs. The house was well maintained with no tell-tale scuffmarks on the carpet or the white walls, and there were metal stands containing houseplants on the landings. Each flat had a different-coloured front door and through the arched landing windows he saw a small, lawned back garden with an apple tree hung with bird feeders in the centre. If he’d known that Afan was a landlord, this was the kind of handsome property that Swift would have expected him to own.
Flat six had a bottle-green front door. He rang the bell and the young man in the photo opened it.
‘Hi, are you Morgan Callender?’
The slight youth blinked rapidly. He wore blue flip-flops, jeans and a thin vest. ‘Who let you in?’
‘My name’s Ty Swift, I’m a friend of Afan’s. I wanted to speak to you. I expect Caris is here. We met at Tir Melys.’
Caris appeared behind Morgan, eyes wide. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘If you let me come in, I’ll tell you. I’m not here to cause you any trouble. You should hear me out.’
Morgan turned towards her. ‘Caz?’
She hesitated and then shrugged. ‘You’d better come in then.’
It was a studio flat, built into the eaves. Just one good-sized room, painted cream with skylight windows. There was a mattress on a platform in the far corner and a fitted
kitchen area with glossy white cupboards. Swift spotted jars of Tir Melys honey and a couple of bottles of home-made wine on the worktop. The living space was furnished with a small glass-topped table and two chairs, and two sofas covered in batik throws. Caris sat on one of the sofas, her legs tucked beneath her. She glared at Swift. He sat on the other sofa. It sagged beneath him.
‘Well, Caris. The police have been trying to contact you. Have you responded to DS Spencer’s message?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Don’t you think you should?’
She ignored the question and asked, ‘How did you find us?’
‘Through a shopping list. I visited your mum last night and she gave it to me.’
She sat up straighter. ‘What do you mean, a shopping list?’
‘A receipt from the Co-op on the corner of this road. Your mum found it. I took things from there and asked around.’
Caris picked up a cushion covered in jewelled mirrors and squeezed it. ‘Sod it. I forgot she goes through my laundry. You’d no right, going to see my mam and bothering her.’
‘Actually, she phoned me and asked me to visit. She found the card I’d given you in the rubbish bin. Let’s face it, you’re not very good at covering your tracks. I wouldn’t apply to join MI5 any time soon.’ He smiled, keeping it friendly.
‘I don’t believe you. My mam wouldn’t have called you,’ she said, but she sounded uncertain.
‘Why would I lie about it? Not everyone tells as many fibs as you do. Phone your mum now if you like and ask her.’
Morgan had perched beside her. He was better-looking than his photo suggested, if you liked the nervy, emaciated type. His large eyes were arresting, a deep, shining brown. He muttered, ‘What’s going on, Caz?’
‘This is the guy I was telling you about who was asking questions. He found Afan’s body. I expect he charmed my mam into blabbing. She gets so desperate for company she’d give Jack the Ripper a cuppa if he called by.’
‘She doesn’t know much, though, does she?’ Swift said. ‘She’s worried about you and imagining all kinds of things.’
Caris scowled at him. ‘Now you’ve found us, what do you want?’ She was wearing a short floral dress with an elasticated neck that sat just below her shoulders. Now and again she fingered a silver necklace with an oval emerald pendant that nestled against her creamy skin.
Swift shrugged his jacket off. It was warm at the top of the house and no windows were open. The flat was tidy but smelled of bodies and cooked breakfast. He wasn’t sure what these two were up to, but they were on edge and he didn’t want them to throw him out. ‘I’m honestly not here to pry into your lives. I don’t care what you’re doing, unless it has something to do with Afan’s death.’
Morgan relaxed a little but Caris eyed him and said, ‘Go on.’
Morgan was an easier target, so Swift focused on him. ‘I assume that Afan owned this house, and that’s why you were anxious to find out about what would happen to his estate after he died.’
‘That’s right,’ Morgan said.
‘Did he come to an arrangement with you when he found out you wanted to get away from home? I understand you were tormented by your brother, Calvin.’
Morgan put out a hand and rested it on Caris’s knee, rubbing the tiny yellow flowers on her dress hem. He turned to her, an unspoken question, and she nodded.
He said, ‘Afan knew what my life was like back in Holybridge with that vicious bastard. Caz and me were talking to him one day and I said I was thinking of going to London, try to get any kind of work and a place to doss. I’d been on the internet and I’d seen that there were squats and stuff. Caz was really upset, but I couldn’t see any other way out, and it had to be better than living with Calvin. I was at my wits’ end. Caz couldn’t come to London ’cause of her mam. Next time we saw Afan, he told us he owned this house in Cardiff and he needed a caretaker, someone to keep an eye on the place, do odd jobs for the tenants and liaise with the managing agent. He said this flat had just been vacated and I could have it rent-free if I paid my own bills and kept an eye on the house. I’m fairly handy with DIY stuff and it sounded like a dream. I nearly bit his hand off, I can tell you.’
He was intense, sitting on the edge of the sofa, trembling slightly and blinking hard. He had the vigilant gaze of the abused. He’d have spent his life until now watching his back and dodging the blows. After his own experiences, no wonder Afan had empathised with his predicament and wanted to help him escape. Swift doubted that Afan had needed a caretaker — usually, the agent would be responsible for repairs or other matters that needed attention in a rented property. He’d created the job to give Morgan a safe place and to allow two young people to find a life together. Caris placed a protective hand against Morgan’s back.
‘Did you ever consider reporting your brother’s behaviour to the police?’ Swift asked.
Morgan grimaced. ‘You’re joking. If I’d done that, he’d have beaten me senseless. He told me if I ever went whinging to anyone, he’d make sure I needed a nurse for the rest of my life.’
‘And your dad never stood up for you?’
Caris answered for him. ‘He’s on tranquillisers, hardly gets what day of the week it is. He never stuck up for Morgan and he let Calvin rule the roost.’
‘Your mum’s worried sick about where you’re going at weekends,’ Swift told her. ‘She’s imagining all kinds of awful things. She’s found out you’re not seeing your aunt.’
Caris put her head in her hands. ‘Bloody hell! Did you tell her?’
Swift shook his head. ‘Not me. I’ve told you, I’m not here to interfere in your lives for the sake of it. Let your mum tell you herself. I’ve suggested that she needs to have an honest conversation with you. I understand why you’ve been lying to her, but that needs to stop, especially now that Afan’s dead and your future here is uncertain.’
Caris rallied. ‘What’s any of this got to do with you anyway? Why are you poking your nose into our lives and following me around? Us being here is all above board.’
‘I’m angry that my friend’s dead. If you’d been honest with me and the police about your relationship with Morgan, if this arrangement with Afan was as you describe it, I wouldn’t have needed to talk to your mum or come here.’
Morgan cracked his finger joints. ‘Don’t you get it? Caz couldn’t tell you or her mam the truth. She hasn’t even told Gwyn, her best friend, about me being here. We don’t want Calvin to find out where I am!’
‘I understand that. There’s no reason why he should.’
Caris snorted. ‘You reckon? Once the cops get wind, it’ll be out there. Everyone’s got their ears to the ground in Holybridge and Calvin’s like that bloody Bryn Price. He’s got his fingers on the pulse.’
‘It’s been so amazing being here,’ Morgan whispered. He folded his arms across his chest. ‘I’ve been safe for the first time since my mam died. It’s really secure, being up the top of this house with a lock on my door. Calvin bought the story that I’d gone to London, so I could go for a run over in the park without having to check around me. We were hoping that in a while, Caz might be able to work something out with her mam and move in here with me. She could get a better job in Cardiff. I knew it was too good to last, and when Caz told me Afan was dead, I reckoned I’d probably get chucked out of here — if Calvin doesn’t find me first. Then I’ll have to go to London, and that means me and Caz will hardly see each other.’
Caris bit her lip and put her arm around him. They were so young, so desperate and struggling. Afan had handed them an unexpected gift that had been snatched away. This house would be sold in due course, once probate was granted. Swift didn’t enjoy pressing them more, but it had to be done because although they were young, they weren’t innocent. They were still concealing something.
‘Caris, why did Afan write you a note saying that he was disappointed in you and that it wasn’t how friends behaved?’
He expected that she’d qu
estion how he’d come by the information. Instead, her eyes brimmed with tears and Morgan stared at the waxed floorboards.
Swift waited. ‘Did you steal from him?’
‘No! I’d never do that!’
Swift hazarded another guess. ‘Did something happen here, something that Afan found out about?’
Caris went to speak, but Morgan shook his head. He moved closer to her and stammered, ‘That was my stupid fault. Maybe Calvin’s right after all and I am a waste of space.’
Swift left a couple of beats and kept his tone soft. ‘What happened? Can you tell me?’
Morgan grabbed Caris’s hand. ‘I met a guy called Mikey at the café up the road. We’d both been running, and we got chatting. Some days we ran together, had competitions. It was nice to have a bit of company. He told me he had to move out of his flat because the rent was going up. He’d found somewhere else, but there were a couple of days between him leaving where he was and starting his new rental. I knew that number three downstairs was empty, waiting for the new tenants. I’ve got keys to all the flats, so I told him he could stay for a couple of days. He did, and he threw a massive party. Stuff got trashed, windows broken, someone sprayed graffiti all over the walls. Maya on the ground floor called the police. They contacted the agent, who told Afan what had happened. He came here and I had to admit it was my fault. He got a terrible shock when he saw the place. I could tell he was fed up.’ He leaned his head on Caris’s shoulder.
‘Afan was really dicked off,’ Caris said. ‘The flat had only just been redecorated for the new tenants. We promised it’d never happen again, but I could see he was having second thoughts. Then he got the estimate for all the damage and that was when he left me that note.’
‘When did all of this happen?’
‘About two weeks ago,’ Morgan muttered.
‘Afan left me the note the Friday before he died,’ Caris said. ‘I never got a chance to talk to him about it. He was good to us and we didn’t mean to let him down.’
Morgan said miserably, ‘That guy Mikey seemed on the level. I haven’t seen him around here since. I really liked him. I was such a fuckwit and I’ve messed everything up.’
MURDER IN PEMBROKESHIRE an absolutely gripping crime mystery full of twists (Tyrone Swift Detective Book 8) Page 18