The Cold Light of Mourning (22 page)

A few streets away in the incident room, Bethan was repeating herself to Davies whose mind seemed to be elsewhere.

“Emyr, sir! What do you want me to do about him?”

Davies looked up at her.

“Sorry, Bethan. Not quite with it today. Emyr. Right. Let’s keep him where he is for now, because if we release him, Williams will know we’re onto him.

“Look, here’s what I want you to do. You know that woman’s phone—the one we recovered from the grave? The tech guys must be finished with it by now. I want the passwords and then you and I are going to set a little trap.”

Bethan broke into a broad smile.

“Sounds good. I’ll be back.”

By lunchtime, Penny was more than ready to call it a day and wondering how she was going to make it through the afternoon, went up to the flat. She shook her head when Victoria asked her what she wanted for lunch and plopped down on the sofa.

“Not hungry,” she said. “I feel like there’s something I should be doing, but I don’t know what it is. I feel all wound up … can’t concentrate.”

“Have you heard from him this morning?”

“No, but I didn’t think I would. I know he’s got a lot on. He says this is all going to be over soon, one way or another.”

“Good,” said Victoria. “It’s frightening to think that Williams is still out there.

“Sure you don’t want a cuppa, or anything?”

“Okay, a tea would be great, thanks,” said Penny as she reached over and picked up one of Victoria’s library books from the coffee table and idly started leafing through it.

She sat back and thumbed through the pages, glancing at the names and descriptions of the different kinds of drugs available on the streets of Britain, each one easily capable of destroying every life it touched.

She turned the pages slowly and then stopped. Turning back a page or two she read the description closely.

Users of the drug face many of the same risks as users of other stimulants such as cocaine and amphetamines. These include increases in heart rate and blood pressure, a special risk for people with circulatory problems or heart disease, and other symptoms such as muscle tension, involuntary teeth clenching, nausea, blurred vision, faintness, and chills or sweating.

In high doses, it can interfere with the body’s ability to regulate temperature. This can lead to a sharp increase in body temperature (hyperthermia), resulting in liver, kidney, and cardiovascular system failure and ultimately, death.

“Methylenedioxymethamphetamine,”
she muttered, underlining it with her finger as she stumbled over the word.
MDMA. More commonly known as Ecstasy
.

She tore a piece of paper off the small pad beside the telephone and printed MOMA. Looking at it critically, she printed the letters again, this time flattening the O.

“Victoria,” she shouted. “It’s all about drugs! And Meg Wynne must have known it! That’s why he killed her. It’s drugs!”

Teapot in hand, Victoria peered into the sitting room to see Penny jumping up off the sofa with a book and scrap of paper in her hand.

“What time is it? Have I got time to go and see him before the first appointment this afternoon?” Penny asked.

She glanced at her watch.

“Look, just call the first couple of appointments and see if they can come in later, would you? I’ve got to go and see him. I’ll explain later.”

Victoria watched as Penny flew out of the flat and shook her head.

“Tea for one, then.”

Penny arrived at the incident room, out of breath and barely able to speak, just as Bethan was returning with the accomplice’s cell phone.

“It’s all about drugs, Bethan,” Penny panted. “I have to speak to him.”

Davies looked up as Bethan entered his office and when Penny followed a few seconds later, he stood up. The smile that was just starting to form faded quickly when he saw how agitated she was.

“It’s all about drugs,” Penny said. “Here, look at this,” she added as she pushed the piece of paper across his desk. “It wasn’t MOMA, to do with the Museum of Modern Art, it’s MDMA. Ecstasty. He’s into drugs, probably in a big way, and Meg Wynne must have found out about it. That’s why he killed her.”

Davies picked up the paper and handed it to Bethan. “Sort this out later with the paper we took from her room,” he said.

“Let’s have the phone.”

He gestured to Penny to sit down.

“Williams poses a huge flight risk,” he said, “so we’ve got to reel him in carefully. We’ll keep Emyr where he is for another day or two.”

As Penny started to protest, he held up his hand.

“It’s okay. He understands. If we release Emyr, Williams will know we’re onto him. So we’ve just made Emyr a bit more comfortable. Upgraded his accommodations, you might say. Told him it won’t be for much longer.”

He pointed at the phone on his desk.

“Right, now Bethan. I want you to text him, pretending you’re Gillian, and ask him to come and see you. Tell him you’ve got important information he needs to know. Tell him to come to Llandudno. Say visiting hours are Monday from two to four. Tell him to get back to you.”

Davies and Penny watched as Bethan picked up the phone and using two thumbs deftly entered the message, read it over carefully, showed it to Davies, and when he nodded and handed the phone back to her, sent it. Exhaling quietly, she put the phone on the table and sat back.

They waited and a few minutes later came the text-speak reply: C U

“Right,” said Davies. “Let’s get our welcoming party ready.”

On Monday afternoon, Gillian Messenger, looking pale and exhausted, was led into a visiting area in the Llandudno jail. Dressed in jeans with a dark green turtleneck pullover and wearing the bright yellow vest that identified her as a prisoner, she looked about her uncertainly and then sat down at an empty table. A few moments later, David Williams was ushered in.

Impeccably dressed as usual, he made his way slowly over to her, taking in every detail of the room, including the guard who stood with his arms folded beside the heavy door.

The room had about a dozen small tables in it, and almost every one was occupied. The female prisoners were of all ages, some young, wearing their hair in ponytails, others middle aged or even approaching retirement age.

Their visitors included young, fit men and grey-haired older men. They talked quietly and calmly.

Gillian’s face lit up as David approached her table.

“David!” she said. “Am I glad to see you. My solicitor is trying for bail, and I can’t wait to get out of here. How have you been? How are things?”

He glared at her.

“How could you let yourself get caught, you stupid bitch!” he whispered. “What the bloody hell were you thinking?”

“I know, I know,” she said. “It was that credit card you gave me. When it was declined, I just started to freak out.”

“Anyway,” said David. “Let’s get to it. What did you want to tell me?”

“Me?” said Gillian. “Nothing, I …”

David shot a glance around him.

“You didn’t text me to come here?” he asked.

“No,” she said. “How could I? They took my phone. They don’t let you use your own phone. You have to use the one in the hall and there’s always a queue.”

Bewildered, she tried to read the look on his face.

“What is it? What’s the matter?”

“Right. I’m getting out of here,” he hissed as he pushed back his chair and began to stand up.

Across the room a young woman in a prisoner’s visiting vest also stood up, walked over to him, and placed a firm hand on his shoulder.

“Sit down, please, Mr. Williams,” she said.

He pushed her aside as complete quiet fell over the room and all eyes turned to him. Then, several other prisoners and their visitors stood up.

“Sit down, please, Mr. Williams,” she repeated.

As he reacted to the unmistakable authority in her voice and sank slowly into his chair, a guard approached Gillian, touched her on the arm, and then led her, sobbing quietly, out of the room.

Williams watched her go.

“Look,” he said easily, “I don’t know who you are or what’s going on here, but there has to be some mistake. I just dropped in to visit an old friend. I’m sure we can clear all this up.”

“Oh, I’m sure we’ll get to the bottom of it,” said Bethan, who, wearing glasses and a blond wig was unrecognizable as the policewoman who had interviewed him.

As she produced her warrant card Williams tried to stand up again but was pushed back into his seat by the fit young visitor at the next table. He, too, produced a warrant card and ordered Williams to sit down and put his hands on the table.

“We’re going to start by giving your car a good forensics once-over,” Bethan told him.

“You can’t do that!” he shouted.

“Oh, I think you’ll find it says in here,” she said, sliding a piece of paper across the table, “that we can. In fact, we’ve already started.

“But don’t worry, sir, we’ve arranged a comfortable ride for you. Of course, you won’t be going home, sir. No, probably not for some little while. But as you say, sir, we’ll get this cleared up.”

As the other prisoners and guests prepared to leave, Bethan signalled to a guard to take Williams away.

“It’s over, David,” she said. “Doesn’t it just feel over?”

Thirty-one

E
veryone in the room was a police officer?” asked Penny at dinner that night in the Red Dragon Hotel where they had all gathered to go over the events of the day.

“Yes,” said Gareth as he offered Victoria a second glass of wine. “It was an idea I got from something I read once about the Queen Mother wanting to have dinner at a certain restaurant in Paris. When her security detail told her it couldn’t be arranged in time, she said nonsense, she wanted to go anyway. So the royal party went, she had a lovely time, and afterward told them all, ‘See, I told you, nothing to worry about.’

“But what she didn’t know was that the police had arranged to close the restaurant for the night to the public and everyone dining there was actually a police officer, so she was surrounded by security.”

Penny and Victoria exchanged glances and smiled.

“Not the Queen Mother!” said Victoria.

“What?” said Davies. “What about her?”

“Nothing,” said Penny. “Don’t mind us. Do go on.”

“With Williams, I thought it best not to take any chances. People involved in narcotics will do whatever it takes to protect their investment, so this way, we were prepared for anything.”

He looked across the table.

“And you, Bethan,” he said, “were wonderful when the pressure was on. Well done!”

Penny offered the bread basket to Gareth, took one for herself, and then passed the basket on.

“Is he a psychopath, do you think?” she asked.

“Probably,” Davies said. “He’s smart enough, but they have one fatal flaw that trips them up every time. They’re very arrogant, and think they’re that much smarter than us poor plods. It’s always their undoing.”

“Have you put all the pieces together yet?” asked Victoria. “Can you tell us how it all happened?”

“Scotland Yard’s looking into Williams’s business affairs, but it looks as if he’s one of the biggest up-and-coming drug lords in Britain. Got operations all up and down the UK, Ecstasy, meth labs, grow ops, heroin, and cocaine importing and distribution. There’s not much he isn’t into. It’s going to take some time to unravel everything, but not only have we arrested a murderer, it seems we’ve uncovered a huge drug operation. That’s apparently where his money came from—and there was lots of it, I can tell you.

“Now, from talking to Meg Wynne’s mother, we learned that her son—Meg Wynne’s younger brother—died last year of a drug overdose at one of those rave parties. Meg Wynne found out about Williams’s business and was blackmailing him. We think they’d had a falling out and she might have been planning to turn him in but the timing was dead wrong—she just wanted to get the wedding over with, so as not to upset Emyr and more importantly, his father. But Williams knew that he had to act.

“This Gillian Messenger—the woman who came to your salon the morning of the wedding—was his business partner, and while she was taking Meg Wynne’s place at the manicure Williams simply lifted his victim off the street. They knew all the details of the appointments because Williams had heard the bridesmaids making the plans.

“He was one cold killer. He drove her out to the woods, presumably to find out what she intended to do, and then he killed her.

“He tried to inject her with a lethal drug, probably in the car, but she wrenched away from him, snapping off the needle. She got out and tried to run away, but she couldn’t escape in the shoes she was wearing, and when he caught up with her he bashed and strangled her—with the dog lead as Penny suspected.”

He paused for a moment, took a sip of water, and continued.

“He was the one who had taken the dog out that morning. We’ve taken the dog’s bed away for analysis; it probably contains soil or leaves similar to what we found on Meg Wynne’s clothing. And when it was over, he and his accomplice put Meg Wynne’s body in the boot of his car.

“And here comes the really nasty part. The body stayed in the car all Saturday. At least he had the decency, if you can call it that, to pretend that he was having car problems so Emyr wouldn’t have to ride to the church with his dead fiancée in the boot.”

Penny and Victoria groaned and looked at each other.

“I know,” Davies agreed. “It’s an awful image.

“So the body stayed in the boot of his car until the Sunday night when the opportunity arose to dispose of the body. We tracked down the nurse who was looking after Emyr’s father, who told us that she was up late that night preparing medication in the kitchen and saw a vehicle leave the car park at the back of the house with its lights off, as if the driver didn’t want to attract any attention. When we asked her which car, she confirmed it was Williams’s BMW. It was a full moon that night, so she had no trouble making it out. Emma Teasdale’s grave had been opened and was ready for the funeral on Monday, and they saw their chance and took it. And if it hadn’t been for Penny’s intuition, the body probably would never have been found. You have to admit, hiding the body in a grave was very clever.”

He looked at Penny, then Victoria.

“So there you have it. We think it’s a pretty tight case.”

“I wonder,” said Penny. “What do you think Meg Wynne was going to do about Williams and his drug operation?”

Davies was silent for a moment.

“That’s a good question, and I’ve wondered about that, too. I’d like to think that she was going to report him, and he knew if he wanted to keep his business going he had to get rid of her. I think she was starting to realize just how filthy drug money is—they don’t call it laundering for nothing—and she didn’t want to be on his payroll any longer.

“Anyway, she was about to marry Emyr and she didn’t really need Williams’s money anymore.

“And speaking of money, it turns out that Meg Wynne left everything to her mother, who has finally found the courage to leave her husband.”

The women nodded and smiled.

“And now, a toast. To Victoria,” he said, raising his glass, “and to Penny.”

As they raised their glasses, the manager approached their table carrying a large bouquet of flowers.

“This has just been delivered for the two ladies,” he said, lowering it into Victoria’s arms. “I met him earlier today in the bank and told him you’d be dining with us this evening.”

Victoria looked at the card and smiled.

With heartfelt thanks, Emyr
.

And then she handed the bouquet to Penny.

“No more presentation bouquets for me, thank you very much!”

A few days later an official-looking envelope arrived from Jenkins and Jones, solicitors, requesting that Penny contact them to set up an appointment.

When she arrived, she was immediately shown into the office of Richard Jones, the senior partner.

A small, tidy, bald man approaching seventy, he had looked after many of the townsfolk’s legal affairs for decades.

“Ah, Miss Brannigan,” he said, standing up as he held out his hand to show her to the chair facing his old-fashioned oak desk. “Thank you for coming. Yes, indeed. I have some rather good news for you.”

“Oh, yes?” said Penny cautiously, sweeping her skirt behind her as she sat down.

After a few moments of settling back into his chair, Mr. Jones picked up an important-looking document comprised of several pages, with red stickers and seals attached in strategic places, and leafed through it.

“Yes, here we are.

“It’s to do with the last will and testament of Emma Teasdale. She was a good friend of yours, I believe?”

“Yes, she was,” said Penny.

“Well, it turns out that she has left you her tea service which you had always admired,” he said, raising his eyes from the page and peering at Penny over his glasses. After a moment he lowered his eyes and added, “And, it says here, and I quote, ‘and also that which holds them’.”

“Oh, she’s never!” exclaimed Penny. “She’s left me her beautiful Welsh dresser! Where will I put it? How will I get it up the stairs?”

“No,” laughed Jones, enjoying his little joke. “She’s left you Jonquil Cottage and all the contents! And a tidy sum to go along with it.

“Do you know, it never fails to impress me that these wonderful, elderly people, who were always of fairly modest means, were such careful savers and wise investors. You wouldn’t believe the size of the estates some of them leave behind, and after having only worked at fairly humble jobs all their lives. The young people of today could learn some very important lessons from them about living within their means.

“ ‘The road to financial hell is paved with credit cards,’ I always say. But that’s neither here nor there.

“Now that I’ve told you the main points of the will, I can also tell you that Miss Teasdale spoke very highly of you to me, and you were very dear to her.

“See here, she refers to you as her ‘beloved friend.’

“Oh my dear girl, I’ve upset you. I’m sure this has all come as a terrible shock. I’m sorry about the delay in telling you. There were one or two complications and other bequests we had to sort out before we could turn this over to you.”

“Please, have a tissue. On second thought, better have two.”

One week later, Gareth drove Penny and Victoria, with a few suitcases, to Jonquil Cottage. What had begun its life as the humble home of a worker in the old slate quarry had become what estate agents were now referring to as “a desirable period property with many original details.”

Built of fine Welsh stone, the two-bedroom cottage waited to welcome its new owner. Although the garden had become overrun with weeds, Davies had assured Penny they’d have that put right in no time.

Carrying a couple of cases each, they walked up the narrow path between small beds of pink and white roses to the front door.

As Penny prepared to put the old-fashioned key Jones had given her in the lock, Davies and Victoria waited a few feet behind her. She looked back at them, then turned the key, pushed open the door, and entered what had been Emma’s home, and was now hers.

Davies set the cases down in the entrance hall.

“We think you’d probably like some time on your own,” he said. “We’ll see you tomorrow. But call if you need anything.”

“Right,” agreed Penny. “Probably best. Thanks for being so understanding.”

She closed the door behind them and after taking off her shoes, turned to look around. She had been to the cottage many times before, of course, but Emma had usually been there to welcome her.

She felt the hot sting of unshed tears as she slowly made her way through the familiar sitting room with its comfy furniture and crowded bookcases. The table in front of the window where they had done their jigsaw puzzles stood empty. She entered the kitchen and smiled when she saw the Welsh dresser with the charming Sweet Violets tea set.

The floor was of beautiful Welsh slate, taken from the very quarry where the original owner of the house had spent his entire working life. Large French doors off the kitchen opened onto a kitchen garden, sheltered by mature trees and framed on two sides by a brick wall.

Carrying the brown envelope of legal documents Jones had given her, she slowly went upstairs and entered what had been Emma’s bedroom. She walked over to the window, opened it, and peered out at the garden. The sweet sound of birdsong rose to greet her.

She sat on the edge of the bed and smoothed out the coverlet. She gazed thoughtfully at her hand for a moment, then placed the envelope on the bedside table.

Slowly, she lay down on the bed and crossing her hands on her chest, turned her head to look out the window, and watched as a gentle breeze tousled the treetops in her garden.

Mrs. Lloyd’s words, spoken soon after Emma died, came back to her.

I think there was someone once, though, but nothing ever came of it. They certainly never married, did they?

Who was he, Penny wondered. Had he visited Emma in this house? Had he ever been in this room? Did they make love in this bed?

Unanswered questions and unbidden images crowded into her mind. She shoved them away and in the peaceful serenity of her new bedroom, closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep. On and on she dreamed. The afternoon turned into early evening and the sun’s last bright rays slanted through the window kissing everything in the room with a warm, golden glow. Finally, they came to rest on a small glass globe in which delicate purple flowers hung suspended for all time.