Gwyn came here for the first time with Caris last January. I’d ordered a design book, and she delivered it because she was interested in seeing the studio. She didn’t stay long, and I thought it was odd, the way she took off suddenly. Caris came to see me a week later and asked if I’d meet her and Gwyn at the bookshop. It was all a bit mysterious, something about Gwyn needing to talk to me. I went and had a coffee with them in Gwyn’s flat. Gwyn told me that she’d recognised Guy, and that was why she’d left the studio in a hurry. He’d been a supply teacher for a while when he was studying for his PhD, before we moved here. He did a fortnight at a school in Holybridge, where Gwyn was a pupil. Gwyn said that she’d been molested by a boy in the playground one day. Guy was on duty and she told him what had happened. She said he made light of it, told her it was just a bit of horseplay and to forget about it. She never did forget, but she never told anyone. She said that after that, she lost all confidence. It blighted her school life. Guy left the school just days after it happened, and she never saw him again. She hardly knew him and didn’t remember his name. Of course, when she walked into the studio, she recognised him. I’d chatted to Caris about our plans for adoption and she’d told Gwyn. Gwyn said that if she told the authorities about Guy’s behaviour towards her, we’d never be allowed to adopt. I begged them both not to say anything. I thought I’d go mad. I offered them jewellery to keep quiet. I gave them expensive pieces regularly, much more to Gwyn than Caris. I could tell that Caris wasn’t comfortable about it and a month or so ago, she told me that she wouldn’t take anything else from me. In fact, she gave me back a couple of pieces, but I insisted that she keep an emerald. I appreciated her silence. I must have given Gwyn stuff worth thousands. Guy leaves the accounts to me, but I’ve been terrified that he’ll notice.
Swift pocketed the phone and sat silently. Gwyn pulled her knees up to her chin and circled her shins with her arms.
She sighed. ‘I was so ashamed, I never told anyone, not even Caris, until that day I saw Guy at Tir Melys. We drove back here, and I broke down. It happened during the lunch break at school. That boy pushed me down beside the equipment store and did horrible things to me. I was crying when I told Guy Brinkworth. Do you know what he said? “I’m sure he was just messing about. No need to make a fuss. You’ll only cause a lot of trouble and you’ll never live it down. You’ll just get a terrible reputation.” He couldn’t be bothered. I had nightmares. Still have them sometimes.’ She put her head down on her knees.
‘You must have had a terrible shock when you saw Guy again.’
Her voice was muffled. ‘He’s disgusting. He shouldn’t be allowed to go anywhere near a child. He thinks about himself and no one else.’
‘I agree with you. Why did you go back to Tir Melys? Why attend Jasmine’s concert, where you knew you’d see Guy?’
She shot back, ‘Why shouldn’t I? I wasn’t going to let him limit what I did. I enjoyed looking at him. I had power over him, I was making money out of him and he didn’t realise. That gave me a lot of satisfaction. He was making retribution for what he’d done.’
‘You’re not squeaky clean yourself, though. You’ve been pressurising Elinor and using your abuse to abuse her. Caris regretted getting involved in it.’
Gwyn said, ‘Did she tell you that?’
‘More or less. When did you realise that Caris had told Afan about it?’
Her eyes widened. ‘I didn’t. Oh God, why did she go and do that?’
He believed that she was telling the truth. He had to take a risk and hoped it would pay off. ‘Because she was troubled, and they were good friends. He was already helping her and Morgan with their life in Cardiff, so she turned to him. Caris had an awful lot going on and the situation with Elinor got too much for her.’
‘Why didn’t she tell me?’
He saw that she was trying to absorb the information. ‘Because you were part of the problem. You’d have tried to persuade her not to talk to Afan about it, wouldn’t you?’
‘I suppose that’s why she’d been so elusive recently. She was avoiding me.’
‘Have you been selling the jewellery on to fund the shop?’
‘And my dad’s care bills.’
‘I wondered if that was the case. You’ve been hemmed in by money worries. Unlike the Merchants, you haven’t got a large asset to sell.’
She responded to his understanding tone. ‘I’d have gone under by now if it hadn’t been for the jewellery.’
He debated how much more he should divulge but decided to carry on. Unless he was completely mistaken, Gwyn wasn’t blameless, but she wasn’t a murderer. ‘In the recording, Elinor goes on to say that Afan spoke to her about what Caris had told him. He was shocked at your and Caris’s behaviour and said it had to stop. He told Elinor it was an impossible situation, and it would be best if she and Guy were honest with their social worker. Elinor said she told you about that conversation on the Wednesday before Afan died and that you were furious. You were going to tackle him about it.’
Gwyn hugged her knees closer. ‘No, that’s not true! She didn’t! Elinor didn’t tell me that Afan knew all about it, not until . . .’ She pressed her lips shut.
If DI Weber was still leading this investigation, she’d crucify him for what he was about to do. But she was in a hospital bed, and she had made him her informal deputy. He pulled his chair a little closer to Gwyn. He kept his voice understanding and quiet. ‘Listen carefully now. You see where this is going, don’t you? You see what Elinor is trying to do?’
Her shock was making her slow-witted. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Elinor’s pointing a finger in your direction. She’s desperate to adopt a child. She’ll stop at nothing. I don’t think you murdered Afan, but do you know who did? I believe you took crockery and a book to place by him in the cairn. That’s the kindest thing you’ve done in a while, Gwyn.’
She seemed about to weep again but she fought for control.
‘Elinor rang me, late that Monday afternoon. She sounded hysterical. She said she’d killed Afan because he’d found out what Guy had done to me and was insisting that she told the adoption people. She didn’t say how Afan knew, and I was too stunned to ask.’ She faltered. ‘Elinor ranted on and on about the baby she needed. She said that Afan’s body was in the cairn. I was so shocked I went cold all over. She said I had to swear not to tell anyone what she’d done, or about Guy and the school. I managed to calm her down, and I swore I wouldn’t say anything. How could I? If I did, it would all come out, everyone would hear about what happened to me and what I’d been doing to Elinor. I thought I’d be charged with blackmail or extortion. A crime, anyway. Caris, too, and that would have broken her mam’s heart. If I was in prison, there’d be no one to visit my dad. I’d already paid money I owed for his care and there was no way I could give it back.’ She hit her fists repeatedly on her knees. ‘What could I do? I had to agree to do what Elinor asked. I told her not to say anything to Caris about it. It was best to keep it between us. I’m so, so sorry. Afan was your friend.’ She broke down in tears and hid her face in her arm.
Swift’s back ached and his face was raw. He was tired of hearing people express their sadness and regret. He just wanted to move this investigation on, get it over with and escape the toxic confines of Tir Melys. ‘Afan was your friend too. You discussed local history, shared an interest in the past, learned Welsh together. You wanted to honour him in a way he’d understand. On Monday evening, you took the crockery and put it by his body. Then you went to his cottage at Tir Melys. You weren’t aware of my arrival. You took the beekeeping book and placed it with him. I wondered about someone running that risk, but it makes sense that it was you.’
She sat up. ‘I’d ordered that book for him, it was new. He loved it. I wanted him to have it by him. I had to do something. Say sorry.’
His anger spilled out. ‘A self-indulgent act, surely?’
Gwyn recoiled. ‘I . . . I’m . . .’
‘N
o, don’t say sorry again. You didn’t consider calling the police anonymously, instead of leaving his body where anyone, a child maybe, would find it?’
‘I didn’t dare . . . I couldn’t . . . Can’t you see?’
Swift ignored her pleadings. He was picking through a maze of information, going back over what Elinor had told him. Things about her marriage. He was still unsure. He spoke sternly to Gwyn. ‘You realise that you’ve allowed a second murder to happen by not informing the police about what Elinor told you?’
She’d been too intent on Afan’s death to consider the angles. Now it dawned on her. ‘Did Elinor murder Caris?’
He didn’t answer. Further on in the recording, Elinor said that after Afan’s death, Caris had told her she was going to reveal the truth about Guy. If Elinor was the killer, she must have pretended that she’d found Caris’s body because she could no longer stand the strain of waiting for someone else to discover the corpse. He had one last question for Gwyn. ‘Did you go back to Afan’s cottage last Sunday?’
Her voice was flat. ‘No. I haven’t been to Tir Melys since I took the book, apart from the concert.’ She made a helpless gesture and sank back in the chair.
It was probably Elinor, then, snooping around to see if I’d found out anything. She must have taken a key at some point. Swift called the landline at Tir Melys, hoping to get hold of Spencer. It rang out.
He stood at the window and watched the world go by. Low, bruised clouds promised another storm. Tir Melys, this tightly woven community of people circling and watching each other in a labyrinth of secrets, including Afan. A pressure cooker waiting to explode. They were defeating him. He was bamboozled by the intricacies. He leaned wearily against the sash window frame. Scraps of conversation came back to him, comments about illness, confidences, controlling behaviour and the sense of belonging that Tir Melys inspired. He ran through who had chosen to confide in whom and why, and a picture came into focus. Once again, he’d been viewing Tir Melys from the wrong perspective.
He glanced at Gwyn. Her eyes were closed, and tears slid down her cheeks. She wasn’t about to go anywhere. ‘Gwyn, you need to listen. I have to go. I want you to lock your door until the police come here. Do you understand?’
She swallowed. ‘Will they arrest me?’
‘Yes. Then you’ll be safe. You could be in danger. Let me out now, then lock up the shop and come back up here and lock your door. Hurry now.’
She did as he instructed, moving slowly. He rang Spencer as he drove out of Holybridge and left a message on his voicemail. Then he called the police station and informed them that they needed to go to Gwyn Bowen’s address immediately.
Chapter 20
The storm broke when Swift was a couple of miles from Tir Melys. Bright flashes of lightning cracked the sky. Thunder crashed and the rain poured. The light faded to a shadowy gloom. A dull dread filled him. His phone rang and he pulled in. It was DS Spencer. The signal faded in and out. Swift could hardly hear him.
‘. . . message but I’m . . .’
Swift said, ‘Are you still at Tir Melys?’
‘No . . . need to see . . .’
‘Where are you?’
‘Forensics . . .’
The signal faded and the call died. Swift swore and reversed back up the road. He saw that he had one bar on his phone and texted Spencer. To his relief, it ticked sent.
Urgent. Come back to Tir Melys.
He drove on fast through sheets of water, hunched over the wheel, barely able to see the road. At Tir Melys, he drove past the car park into the community. No one was out in the sweeping rain. The gardens were forlorn. Elinor was right, the fruit would rot. Yet even under this lowering sky, he could appreciate the remote beauty of the place and see why it could inspire a passion to cling to the land.
He slowed and parked outside the Merchants’ house. He eased from the car, catching his breath as his back spasmed, and stood for a moment in the deluge. All was silent except for the rolling thunder.
He knocked on the door, waited and then knocked again. Jasmine opened it. She was in a man’s tartan dressing gown with the belt drawn tight and she had the fuddled eyes of someone who’s just woken. He was taken aback to see her without a hat. Her thin hair was white and cropped. She put a hand to her head in embarrassment.
‘I’m sorry. Did I wake you?’
She leaned against the door. ‘I’ve just got up. It’s been exhausting, having the police here again. So many questions, so much upset. We’re all deeply shocked at Caris’s murder. And to think that it happened on our land, in a holy place! Elinor is in a dreadful state. It’s as if we’ve all been hit by a steamroller with these two terrible deaths. If you don’t mind, we’re really not up to visitors.’
‘I don’t want to intrude, but it’s important.’
She said with a pleading catch in her voice, ‘Can’t it wait?’
‘I’m afraid not.’
She shrugged and waved him in. Peter was sitting in the willow armchair to one side of the fire in the kitchen, listening to Mozart and conducting with his hand. He wore another fusty fawn cardigan and backless slippers. A grey sort of man, the kind you’d hardly notice. He glanced over at Swift and carried on conducting. It was warm and snug in the room with the glowing fire. Condensation clouded the windows. An empty casserole dish stood on the table, still smelling savoury and delicious. It would be hard to give this house up.
Jasmine shifted the kettle onto the hot plate of the Aga and threw teabags into a pot. ‘Well, what is it?’ She had to raise her voice over the music.
Swift pulled a chair out and sat at the table. ‘Afan knew about the plan to sell Tir Melys.’
He wasn’t sure that Peter had heard him. Jasmine stood with her hand on the kettle.
‘What do you mean? How?’ Her regal manner had vanished, replaced with anxiety.
‘Bruno told him the week before he died.’
Jasmine turned to her husband. ‘Peter, did you hear that?’
He didn’t respond. The Marriage of Figaro played on, and his hand swept from side to side. She switched off the music. Peter went on conducting. The kitchen was silent, apart from the hiss of the kettle.
Swift repeated himself. ‘Afan knew about the plan to sell Tir Melys the week before he died.’
‘Why did Bruno tell him?’ Jasmine asked.
‘Because he wanted to see if Afan would loan him some money to buy you out.’
Jasmine rubbed her forehead, moved the kettle off the hotplate and sat down opposite Swift. ‘Well . . . so what? Why have you come here to tell us that?’
She had no inkling. He stared across at Peter Merchant’s defeated expression and understood that he’d reached the right conclusion. ‘Ask your husband.’
She turned in her chair. ‘Peter? What does he mean?’
Peter got up slowly and threw another log on the fire. He watched the flames lick it and then straightened a cast iron skillet above his head. From the back, he could be mistaken for an old man, but beneath his fogeyish clothes, he was sinewy from his yoga practice. He started across to the table, his slippers flapping on the flagged floor, and then stopped. He swayed a little. Swift rose and pulled a chair out for him, gestured for him to sit. A small kindness never went amiss at a time like this.
Swift sat back down. ‘I believe that Afan spoke to you, Peter, after Bruno had told him about your plan to sell, and the plot that he and Bryn were hatching. Afan disliked all the underhandedness, on both sides. He realised how much you genuinely loved Tir Melys and longed to stay here. I’ve seen you looking heartbroken over the prospect of losing it. Afan understood that you’re more approachable than Jasmine and likely to listen, more open to negotiation. He said that you needed to be honest with your tenants so as to find a way forward. I’m not sure that you intended to kill him.’
Jasmine gazed at her husband. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. Peter could never harm anyone. Tell him, Peter. Tell him this is nonsense.’ Her voice faltered a
nd died as he shook his head. He reached out and patted her hand.
‘Quiet, now, Jasmine. You’ve always done most of the talking but this isn’t your show. I’m tired. Tired of listening to you and tired of all the subterfuge and worry. And for what? We’re losing it all anyway. You see, Ty, I’m counting on the peace and quiet of a prison cell. Sounds odd, I know. Will they let me weave willow? It’s the kind of thing inmates do, isn’t it?’
Swift wasn’t going down the road of empathising with a killer. ‘No idea. Did you ask Afan to meet you on the coast path?’
‘That’s right. Away from the community, by Carreg Trefin. A place to talk and sort stuff out. I just wanted a bit of time to keep things under wraps, try and find a way out of selling up. I reckoned I could talk to Bruno and Bryn in confidence, find a resolution. But Afan was so bloody preachy and insistent. He said it wasn’t fair on everyone, conducting negotiations behind their backs. He wanted to call a meeting of the whole community to discuss it.’ He sighed.
‘Afan and his bloody principles,’ Swift nudged.
‘Exactly. If he could just have backed off a bit . . . I’d been mending a planter and I had the screwdriver in my pocket. Suddenly, I was fed up of people telling me what to do. Nag, nag, nag. Voices all the time, badgering me. I love this place — I have done since the moment I set eyes on it. It called to me then and it still does. Bruno might have a blood connection to it, but I have a spiritual one. Jasmine takes front of house with her harp playing, but it’s my heartstrings that are plucked when I contemplate leaving here. I had my wife calling the shots at home, Bryn and Bruno ganging up on us, Afan on his high horse, Giles forever contacting us and bleating on. He’s an adult, why can’t he get himself out of his own mess? Why should I be uprooted because he’s made bad decisions? I was furious. This is my home, but it was as if I had no say, no importance. Something went pop in my skull. I went for Afan, shoved the screwdriver into him just to shut him up. We were near the cairn. I dragged him in there. And left him. He’d dropped his phone on the ground. I knew you were arriving, so I sent you the email. I’m not even sure why I did that, because I didn’t really care what happened. Then I came home.’
MURDER IN PEMBROKESHIRE an absolutely gripping crime mystery full of twists (Tyrone Swift Detective Book 8) Page 25