Murder on the Hour (26 page)

“Oh, well done,” said Davies, smiling encouragingly at her. “I'm sorry I've got to speak to the director about the next segment, but we'll send a police officer over to you right away.” He turned to Penny. “Look after Jean until the police officer gets here, will you?”

He moved off and Jean turned to Penny. “I'm not feeling well, and I want to go home and lie down. It's just across the street from Mrs. Lloyd's so I'll be fine. No, please, don't come with me. I'd rather go on my own. I'm fine.” She hurried off and disappeared.

The growing crowd followed the film crew into Rosemary Lane and watched as a running man came into view, carrying a white quilt, which he dumped over the stone wall in front of Mrs. Lloyd's house. Mrs. Lloyd herself and Florence stood across the street as the action unfolded.

“Oh, if only I'd been looking out the window at that moment,” said Mrs. Lloyd. “Imagine! I might have seen the killer himself dumping the quilt. The nerve!” The man playing the killer then disappeared down the street while an actress dressed up to look like Dilys arrived less than a minute later, picked up the quilt, and walked off with it. The filming ended and once again the crew replayed the action on their monitor. When they were satisfied they'd captured everything satisfactorily, they began to wrap things up and the crowd drifted away.

DCI Davies walked over to Penny with a smile tinged with relief. “What now?” she asked.

“We wait.”

“We wait until it's broadcast?”

“Oh, it'll never be broadcast. Those weren't even real actors. Police officers with an interest in amateur dramatics.” He checked his phone. “Shouldn't be long now.”

“What's going to happen?”

“My phone's going to ring and when it does, we'll have caught our killer.”

 

Thirty-nine

Jean Bryson left the street door slightly ajar and climbed the stairs of a small house across the street from Mrs. Lloyd's. She entered a bedroom just off the landing and sat in a comfortable chair beside the narrow bed. Flowered curtains fluttered in the afternoon breeze as she took a sip of water from the glass on a bedside table.

The weight of a foot carefully placed on a creaky stair was the first indication that someone was coming. Jean held her breath and waited. A moment later the door to her room opened slowly and a man entered.

“So you've come for me,” Jean said. “I thought you might. It was you I saw in the kitchen, wasn't it?” The man said nothing but took a step closer. “It must have been,” said Jean, “or why else are you here? You must have followed me.” She sighed. “Well, what have you got to say for yourself? You killed that poor Catrin Bellis, didn't you?”

“No,” said Haydn Williams. “I didn't. I came to warn you that you're in danger because he's on his way here. You have to get out of here and go to the police. I'll go with you.”

“Who's on his way here?” said Jean, standing up.

The door opened and Evan Hughes filled the frame. His face was a mask of confused anger. He looked from Jean to Haydn.

“What are you doing here, Haydn?” he demanded.

“Just having a word with this lady. About you.”

At that moment Det. Insp. Bethan Morgan emerged from the adjoining bathroom.

“Can you explain what you're doing here, Mr. Hughes?” she said.

“I saw Haydn come here and I followed him. I wondered what he was up to.”

“That's not quite true, now, is it?” She beckoned him over to the window and pointed to the street below. “Look down there. Do you see the film crew? The director? The camera operator? They're actually police officers and they've been keeping a very close eye on you today. They watched you in the crowd. They watched your family. And they really watched Jean here.” She gave a little wave out the window and made a gesture with her finger pointing downward.

She turned to Jean. “We can't thank you enough for helping us today. If you go down the stairs, a police officer is waiting to take you across the street. Mrs. Lloyd and Florence have a nice cup of tea waiting for you, or something stronger, if you prefer.” She touched Jean lightly on the back and opened the door for her.

“And Haydn, we're going to need to speak to you but you should leave now, too.” As she finished speaking DCI Davies entered the room.

Haydn paused in the doorway and turned back to look at his friend, still standing in front of the window. Their eyes met and Haydn raised his hand in a resigned gesture of regret.

He made his way down the stairs and slowly emerged into the street. The crowd had started to disperse but one person, a woman with red hair and a sympathetic smile beckoned to him.

“How'd it go?” Penny asked.

“Awful,” said Haydn, shaking his head. “I still can't believe it.”

“Come on,” said Penny. “Let's go and get you a nice cup of tea.”

“I'd rather have a whisky,” he replied.

“I'm sure that can be arranged,” said Penny, indicating Mrs. Lloyd's charcoal grey house. “You're very welcome to join us here.”

Florence opened the door and ushered the two into the sitting room. Jean and Mrs. Lloyd were seated together on the sofa. Penny joined the rest of the women in a cup of tea and Mrs. Lloyd poured a generous glass of whisky.

“I hope it's all right,” she said holding out the glass to Haydn. “Left over from Christmas. Now then, we're all dying to know all the details. How did you know to go to Jean's place?”

“I'd had my doubts about Evan for a little while,” Haydn said, after taking a deep draught of whisky. “I knew he'd seen my half of the map and he kept banging on about the other half. And then when Catrin was killed and the quilt went missing, I started to suspect him.”

“Why didn't you go to the police?” Penny asked.

“Because I couldn't bring myself to believe that he could actually do that. I've known him all my life. He's a good dad, he tries to be a good husband, and he's one of the best sheep farmers in the area. Your mind just won't go there about someone you know so well. Someone you know and like. Someone you respect, look up to, even. And maybe you are in denial about it. I'm not explaining this very well, but until today it just didn't seem real.”

“And what happened today?” asked Penny.

“After the re-creation, Jean turned to the policeman and said she'd just remembered something, and Evan said something under his breath. It took me a moment to work out what he said, but he said, ‘She knows' and then I could tell by the way he looked at her, that it was all true. And he gave her such a hard, cold look. I've never seen anyone look like that before. And then Jean left, and I was afraid for her, so I followed her and saw her go into the house. I knew then that she'd be all right because Evan couldn't hurt her if I was there. I didn't know there'd be other people there, too.”

He held up his empty glass and Mrs. Lloyd refilled it.

“I don't know why he did it,” Haydn said. “I was very sad when Catrin died. I'd known her a long time from back when we were at school and I always thought she was special. I was just starting to think about asking her out. It's all just such a stupid shame. Two lives ruined. More if you count Evan's family.” He paused for a moment and then repeated, “Such a shame.”

Everyone remained silent. Finally Mrs. Lloyd said, “You know, Florence, I think I might have a glass of sherry now and some of those little biscuits I like, if we've got any in.” She looked around the room. “Anyone care to join me?”

Jean held up her hand.

*   *   *

“Evan Hughes, I'm arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Catrin Bellis,” intoned Det. Insp. Bethan Morgan. “You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”

“Now listen to me, Hughes,” said Davies. “We kept you up here until the crowd dispersed but your wife and daughter are down there waiting for you. We can do this one of two ways: with or without handcuffs. What's it to be?”

“Without.”

“Right. We'll be taking you down to the station for questioning but first, I want you to tell me one thing. What you were looking for in the churchyard. Did you find it? Yes or no?”

“I think you know the answer to that.”

“I want to hear it from you.”

 

Forty

“So,” said DCI Davies, “you found what you were looking for. Tell me about it and why it meant so much to you.”

In front of them was a square package, wrapped in ancient leather. An earthy, damp smell rose from the table and filled the small interview room at the Llanelen police station.

Evan Hughes, on one side of the table, stretched out both arms to the package, touched it lightly, then sat back in his chair, and his mouth slightly open, gazed at the ceiling. After a long moment listening to Hughes's shallow breathing, Davies made eye contact with the police officer beside him, and then tipped his head at Hughes.

“Answer the question, please, Mr. Hughes,” said Det. Insp. Bethan Morgan. “Tell us about this package and how it came to be in your possession.”

Hughes crossed his arms and remained silent.

Bethan stood up and pulled on a pair of latex gloves. “For the recording,” she said, “I've just put on a pair of latex gloves and I'm unwrapping the leather from the parcel.” She peeled back the leather, revealing a rough green casket. Its base was about the size of a hardback book and it stood about eight inches tall. She opened it and removed a small leather drawstring purse. It was softer, less pungent, and a paler colour than the exposed leather that had protected the casket. She untied the drawstring and tipped the contents of the pouch onto a piece of leather beside the casket. Twelve large pearls rolled out. “For the record,” she continued, “I've opened the casket and removed the contents. One leather pouch containing what appear to be twelve pearls of good size.”

“Mr. Hughes, how did these come to be in your possession?” Davies said.

Finally, he spoke. “We dug them up.”

“And ‘we' would be?”

“My daughter, Jessica, and me.” And then he added, “She just knew that some treasure had been buried. That's all. She knew about the map but she didn't know where it came from.”

Seizing on what mattered most to Hughes, Davies continued. “Mr. Hughes, this is all going to be easier on your daughter and wife if you tell us exactly what happened.”

Hughes let out a long exhalation that sounded like a sigh filled with resignation and relief. “I'm glad it's over. How much do they know?”

Davies ignored the question and pointed to the object on the table.

“I ask the questions here, Mr. Hughes. Not you. Our forensics revealed traces of ancient leather in one of the holes in the churchyard. We haven't sent this for a proper appraisal yet, but unless I'm very much mistaken, that's ancient leather. And also, unless I'm very much mistaken, it's a valuable artifact. So you need to tell us everything you know about it.”

He stood up. “I'm going to give you a few minutes to think things over whilst I arrange a cup of tea for you. And when I come back, you'd better start talking. And if you want your solicitor present, we'll arrange that. But we're going to get this done, Mr. Hughes, and we're going to do it now.”

*   *   *

With his solicitor beside him and a cup of tea in front of him, Hughes began to unravel the story of how the casket of pearls came into his possession.

“Since I've known Heather, there's been this story about how her great-grandfather, as a boy, was cheated out of something. They never quite knew what, but it was said to be valuable. Precious. Something to do with two other boys who kept something from him. They all went off to war together, but two were killed and only Heather's great-grandfather came home, so he never found out what it was. There was talk of a map, so when Haydn came into the pub that night flashing half a map that the Antiques fellow had found in his clock, and I saw the date on it, I knew that it had to be part of the map. I took the map to the loo with me and photographed it. Then all I needed was the other half.”

He took a sip of the now tepid tea and glanced at Davies who nodded to him to continue. Det. Insp. Bethan Morgan did not look up from her notebook.

“At the Antiques evaluation I overheard the appraiser telling Catrin there was something in the quilt she'd brought. I didn't know if it was the other half of the map, of course, but her great-grandfather was one of the three boys, and the quilt dated from about that time, so it was possible. I went round to ask her about it, but she got very stroppy with me. All I wanted her to do was look in the quilt and see if the map was in it, but she refused. I tried to grab it from her, but she fell and hit her head on the hearth. She tried to get up and that's when things got out of hand.”

His hands, wrapped around the empty tea mug, trembled and his voice shook. “I grabbed the poker and hit her with it,” he said. “I meant to hit her hands to make her let go but she ducked and lunged at me and I ended up hitting her head. I didn't mean to kill her.” He winced. “If I could take it back, I would, believe me.”

“We all do things we aren't proud of,” said Davies. “It's just that some things are worse than others.”

Bethan looked up. “And then you grabbed the quilt, left by the back door, and dumped it in Mrs. Lloyd's front garden?”

Hughes nodded miserably.

“When did you pull the map out of it?” she asked.

“As I was leaving. I went through the kitchen, picked up a knife, and slit the seam open.”

She looked at Davies. “Any more questions?”

He shook his head. “That'll do for now. Mr. Hughes, do you have anything you'd like to add to what you've just told us?”