Slated for Death (10 page)

“We'd love to see the lake, please.”

“Before we go, then,” said Bevan, “I always invite people to reflect for a moment in the silence. You have to remember that when this mine was operational, it would have been filled with noise. Men pushing heavy wagons filled with slate up to the surface, calling to each other, winching, digging, blasting, shouting…”

“Do they speak to you?” asked Victoria. “The miners?”

“No,” said Bevan. “They talk only to one another. We're only observers. They don't know we're here.”

The trio stood silently, listening. But all Penny heard was the soft, steady dripping of water, trickling down the walls.

As they followed Bevan to the subterranean lake, stooping when they came to a low entrance to another tunnel, Bevan turned to Penny.

“And since you were asking, there's another aspect of this business with Glenda Roberts that I can't get my head around.”

“What's that?”

“Why here? I mean, if you're going to murder someone, there must be lots of better places to do it than down a mine.”

“I agree with you,” said Penny. “That's what I thought. Why here?”

They stood in front of the lake, admiring its cool, dark beauty. The surface was still, with large slabs of slate visible below the surface. “Her body was just here,” said Bevan, pointing to a place in front of it.

Penny and Victoria gazed at the spot, trying to picture Glenda lying there. As if reading their minds, Bevan helpfully supplied a colourful image. “She was wearing a red coat.”

He gave them a few more moments of contemplation and then asked if they were ready to return to the surface. They were, and the three set off for the train. Many small rectangular pieces of slate, about an inch long and an eighth of an inch thick, were scattered along the pathway and Penny bent over to pick up a couple.

“I guess lots of people pick these up,” she said.

“They do,” said Bevan, “but we'll never miss them. So we don't mind if they take them home as a souvenir.”

Twenty minutes later Victoria and Penny were back on the surface and on their way.

“He said some pretty interesting things about Glenda,” Victoria remarked as they drove out of the car park.

“Yeah,” Penny agreed. “What did you make of the bit about it couldn't have been someone from the mine? Did you think there was an element there of…”

“Methinks he doth protest too much?”

“Something like that. I read somewhere that people volunteering too much information can be lying or fabricating.”

“I don't think he was lying, but it seemed oddly out of context. He just said that out of nowhere.”

“True. But now, we'd better talk about the concert while the visit is fresh in our minds,” said Penny. “It would have been helpful if we'd had a chance to review Glenda's files before we spoke to Bevan. Still, I guess we can put it together our own way.”

“I asked Rebeccah to take a look for the file,” said Victoria. “Why don't you get my mobile out of my bag and ring her now while we think of it. Her number will be there. Just scroll for it.”

Penny reached behind her for the bag on the backseat and placed it on her lap. She scrabbled about in it, pulled out the mobile, and placed the call.

“Hello, Rebeccah. It's Penny Brannigan here,” she began and then stopped to listen. She held the phone away from her ear so Victoria could hear a loud voice coming from it. “That's terrible,” said Penny, when she was allowed to speak. “I'm so sorry to hear this. Yes, you stay where you are and don't touch anything. I'll call the police for you.” She ended the call and turned to Victoria.

“What is it? What's happened?”

“Glenda's son, Peris, has been staying with Rebeccah since his mum died, so her house has been empty. He went back to get a few things and discovered a break-in. The house has been burgled, and now, on top of everything else, it looks as if Glenda's jewellery's been stolen.”

 

Seventeen

“I don't suppose you've got photos of her jewellery? Do you know if any of it was insured?” Sgt. Bethan Morgan, her pen poised over her open notebook, looked at the small pile of glass shards under the broken bedroom window. Rebeccah Roberts, standing in the doorway, shook her head as her nephew, Peris, peered over her shoulder.

“I don't know. Some of it was Mum's and some was Glenda's. I don't really know anything about Glenda's jewellery. But Mum's pearls were here, I think, and her engagement ring. The pearls had earrings with them and the ring was a rather nice amethyst with diamonds. Gold. She was wearing her wedding ring,
Mam
was, but she'd given her engagement ring and pearls to Glenda for safekeeping when she moved into the home. She didn't trust the other residents.” She pointed to the bureau drawers that had been upturned on the bed. “Who do you think could have done this?”

“Couldn't say,” Sergeant Morgan replied, “but break-ins like this happen all the time. They know what they're looking for. Money and jewellery that can be sold on quickly. Sadly, it's often to get money for drugs. But we know places where stolen property like this often ends up, so I hope we can recover at least some of it for you.

“Actually, I was going to ask you the same question. Can you think of anyone who might have done this? Did anyone know Peris was staying with you and that the place was likely to be empty?” Rebeccah shook her head. “What about you, Peris?” said Bethan. “Did you mention to any of your mates that you were stopping with your aunt for a bit?”

“No, I didn't.” He blinked rapidly several times and stroked the back of his neck.

Sergeant Morgan pointed her pen at a little pile of necklaces and earrings that had been left behind. “I'm not an expert, but it seems to me they took only the most valuable pieces.” She took a step back. “Rebeccah, did your mother leave any of her jewellery with you?”

Rebeccah frowned. “No, Glenda had it all. I'm not really one for jewellery, me.”

“How do you feel about this?”

Rebeccah shrugged. “It happens, I guess. What can you do?”

“Well, if you notice anything else missing, get in touch with us right away. And please check for her passport and any other important documents like that—birth certificate, driving licence, national health insurance card … that kind of thing.” Sergeant Morgan handed Rebeccah her business card just as her phone rang. She listened for a moment and muttered a thank-you. “The fingerprints people are outside. Hopefully they'll find a print or two that matches something we have on file.” She looked from Rebeccah to Peris. “They'll need yours, too, of course, for elimination.”

“Both of us?” asked Peris.

“Well, yes. Especially yours. You live here, don't you?” Peris looked at the broken glass.

“Right, well, I'll be on my way and leave you with the forensics people. You'll find them very thorough so they may be some time.”

Once in her police car Sergeant Morgan rang Davies to update him.

“The forensics team has just arrived. But what bothers me is Rebeccah's and Peris's reaction to the break-in. Rebeccah didn't seem that bothered and the lad, Peris, seemed very bothered. One of them might know something.”

 

Eighteen

An ominious line of low, slate-grey clouds assembling along the tops of the hills blanketed the early morning in an unnatural, eerie darkness that gave the streets and houses a dreary, washed out look. A heavy stillness hung in the air, close and uncomfortable. Penny passed several acquaintances on her walk to work who commented on the gathering storm, and then hurried on about their business.

By the time she pushed open the door of the Spa, the air had an earthy, dense smell and the first drops of rain had started to fall.

Eirlys, not Rhian, greeted her on the reception desk.

“Morning, Penny. Rhian rang to say she'll be a bit late. Her grandfather's poorly and she's just going to pop into the nursing home to see if he needs anything. She'll be here as soon as she can.”

“Right, Eirlys, thank you. Can you take care of reception until she arrives and I'll do the manicures? Who's first today?”

“It's Mrs. Lloyd and you know she prefers me to do her nails. She says you always make the water too hot.”

“Well, she'll just have to put up with me for today and I'll make sure the water isn't too hot.”

Half an hour later Mrs. Lloyd arrived. “Oh, good morning, Eirlys,” she said as she entered the reception area. “Made it just in time. It's bucketing down now and the wind is starting to pick up. Looks like we've got some really nasty weather coming in.” She turned back toward the door, shook her umbrella outside, and then closed the door against the rain. “What are you doing there on the desk?”

“I'm just standing in for Rhian for a bit this morning,” Eirlys explained. “Penny will be doing your manicure this morning. But don't worry. I told her to mind the water temperature and she said she would.”

Mrs. Lloyd laughed good-naturedly, stood her umbrella in the stand to dry, hung up her coat, and walked down the hall to the manicure room.

She settled herself in the client's chair and dipped the ends of her fingers in the soaking bowl. “Well, that's a little better, Penny,” she said. “The temperature is almost tolerable. Not quite as hot as you usually make it.”

“I'm glad you like it. How've you been, Mrs. Lloyd? All right?”

“Very busy, Penny. I've started working on my memoirs and if I'd known how much bother this was going to be, I don't know I would have done it. Masses of photographs and other things to go through and organize. Newspaper cuttings, dance programs, scrapbooks. But they certainly bring back a lot of memories. Events and things you'd completely forgotten about and then you read something and it brings it all back as if it just happened yesterday. You know, sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and wonder where all the years went. How did I ever get this old, I ask myself.”

“I hope the memories are mostly happy ones,” Penny commented as she lifted Mrs. Lloyd's hand out of the warm soaking water and dried it with a fluffy white towel.

“Mostly,” said Mrs. Lloyd, “although there are some that are not so good. Arthur's obituary from the local paper and the program from his funeral service, that sort of thing. And … well, other things, too.”

She reflected for a moment and then took the conversation in another direction.

“Have you heard any more news about Glenda? Are the police any nearer to solving that, do you know?”

“No, I haven't heard anything.”

“Well, that's not the first bad thing that's happened down that mine, let me tell you. Over the years many men died down there. In the 1800s the working conditions were horrific, and well into the twentieth century there were still the most terrible accidents. We used to hear about them when I was a girl.”

“I can imagine.”

“And even in the 1970s I think it was, just before the real operations closed, a couple of incidents down there really raised eyebrows. In fact,” she paused while Penny switched to the other hand, “one of the accidents was so bad that government officials from whatever ministry looked after mines in those days came to investigate.

“They stayed at the Red Dragon Hotel and they sent reports on their findings to their superiors back in London. I know this because they used to come into the post office almost every afternoon with a big envelope with government franking on it, hand it over, and tell me to make sure it got to London.” She laughed. “‘Make sure it got to London!' What did they expect me to do? Hand deliver it myself?”

“Maybe they thought you were in charge of the Royal Mail.”

“Maybe they did. Government officials. What do they know? It's always a bad sign, Penny, when the men in suits arrive. A lot of questions will be asked, a lot of money will be spent, and nothing will be done. Nothing good, anyway. All these changes haven't done much to make our lot better, if you ask me.”

“What exactly happened at the mine, Mrs. Lloyd? Was there a cave-in?”

“No. Some scaffolding collapsed and a man was killed.”

“Oh, that's awful.”

“Yes, it was. The mine manager died.”

“I believe mining is one of the most dangerous occupations.” Penny began shaping Mrs. Lloyd's nails. And then a moment later: “Mine manager. Did I hear somewhere that Glenda's father was the mine manager at one time? Was he…?”

“Yes,” said Mrs. Lloyd. “Her father, Aled, died down that mine. I'd forgotten about that accident until Doreen died. Death always gets me thinking about the past, I find.

“Well, before we get to the polish part,” Mrs. Lloyd continued, “I just want to ring Florence and see if she needs me to pick up anything whilst I'm out. If this storm comes in the way they're saying it will, we might be shut in for a day or two. Best to be prepared.”

“It certainly is,” agreed Penny. “While you're doing that, I'll make a call myself,” said Penny. “Won't be a minute.”

She stepped into her small office at the back of the Spa, picked up her phone, and dialed. It went straight to voice mail. “Hi, Gareth. It's me, Penny. I've just heard that Glenda Roberts's father died in some kind of accident down the mine. He was the manager at one time. Scaffolding collapse? Anyway, not sure if it matters but thought I should pass that on to you. Talk to you later. Oh, Mrs. Lloyd just reminded me. Doreen did mention it. Bye.”

Penny returned to the manicure room to find Eirlys applying polish to Mrs. Lloyd's nails. “Rhian's back, so I'm finishing Mrs. Lloyd.” Both women smiled at Penny.

“Right, well, that's good, then. I'll leave you to it. See you next week, Mrs. Lloyd and enjoy your bridge game tonight,” Penny said.