Slated for Death (24 page)

*   *   *

DCI Gareth Davies picked up his watch off the nightstand and checked the time. He'd been asleep for a couple of hours and awakened, as people with a lot on their minds sometimes do, to find that the long night's journey into day had ended prematurely. He knew the signs. It would be two or three hours before he'd be able to get back to sleep, so he might as well use the time wisely.

He threw back the covers, pulled on his old green plaid dressing gown, and wandered into the kitchen. A few minutes later, a cup of tea in his hand, he sat at the kitchen table and opened the file he'd brought home. He went over the notes to see if anything struck him this time that he'd missed on previous readings. Was there a different way to approach this case that would lead him to the solution? After a few minutes of rereading the same paragraph without getting any sense out of it, he gave up, closed the file, and pushed it away from him. He took a long sip of tea and allowed his mind to focus on something he'd been thinking about a lot lately.

It wasn't so much that he resented the long nights that the job sometimes demanded, it was more that his body protested more loudly each time it was asked to do things that had come so much easier just a few years ago. The idea of retirement was becoming increasingly appealing. Not so long ago he had hoped that Penny would share the coming years with him, but he was starting to accept that she wouldn't. When someone tells you they don't want to get married, what they're really saying is they don't want to marry you. He'd seen that many times. The confirmed bachelor who met the right woman and that was that. Married within months, leaving a trail of broken hearts behind him. At least Penny had been honest with him, sharing her feelings, including her doubts that they had a future together. And she'd told him before he'd made a fool of himself asking her to marry him. He respected her for that, but he couldn't help wishing the outcome had been different. He thought they'd found something wonderful in each other, but apparently he wasn't what she was looking for.

Perhaps a change of scenery might do him good. Sometimes a bit of distance can provide much-needed perspective on a problem. He considered a few days in Liverpool with his son and daughter-in-law, but they had a new baby and wouldn't want him under their feet. And then he remembered a fairly recent acquaintance, Alan Nesbitt, retired chief constable for the county of Belleshire, who had married Dorothy Martin, a former schoolteacher from America. There were a lot of similarities between the two couples and at one time he'd hoped his and Penny's story would have the same happy ending as Alan's and Dorothy's.

When the Roberts case was wrapped up, and he expected it wouldn't go on much longer, he'd drive over to Sherebury and have a word with Alan. Maybe get in a few rounds of golf, a few pints down the pub. And since Penny had been the one who'd introduced them, he'd ask her if she wanted to go with him. He didn't think she would, but that didn't matter. If Alan and Dorothy could put him up for a few days, he'd go on his own. And depending on what advice and insight Alan had to offer, when he got back he'd request a meeting with the superintendent to discuss his retirement options.

Feeling better now that he had a plan and something to look forward to, he went back to bed and fell into a dreamless sleep.

 

Forty-one

“I've come to apologize to you, Jimmy.”

“Me? What on earth have you got to apologize to me for?”

They were seated in the lounge of the nursing home, Jimmy in his wheelchair in his usual place and Penny beside him. The care aide would be here at any moment with the residents' cups of lukewarm midmorning tea.

“Because in making all the arrangements for the concert I forgot to invite you. And now that Dylan has died, we are going to mention the miners and their importance to the area, and his family will be there. You were his last friend, so you should be there, too.”

Jimmy made a vague, dismissive gesture at his legs. “It's a mine, Penny. It's not accessible to someone like me.”

“Tonight it is. I spoke to one of the guys last night. They've got a little chair that paramedics use to transport people on stairs and they'll bring it out for you. And your old friend DCI Gareth Davies has agreed to keep an eye on you to make sure you don't get into trouble. And we'll sort out your ride. So what do you say, Jimmy? Would you like to come?”

His smile lit up the room as he turned shining eyes to her.

“Best offer I'll get all day.”

“Great! So you'll need to be ready about five thirty. We'll get you there early. Oh, and be sure to dress very warmly because it's cold and damp down there, as you'd expect. If you've got a rug of some sort for your knees, bring that.” As she finished speaking, the care aide entered the lounge, handing out cups of tea to those who wanted one. Penny's eyes followed her for a moment, then turned to Jimmy.

“Did you notice a different care aide around the time Doreen died?” Penny asked. “Someone you hadn't seen before and who wasn't around very long?”

“Can't say as I did. I really don't take much notice of them. They're just here one day and the next day they're not, so what you've just described—someone ‘who wasn't around very long'—sounds like all of them.”

“What do you mean?”

“There's a pretty high staff turnover here. They're young women, they need a job, there's always work going in places like this, they take it and discover it's boring or a bit on the unpleasant side, so they quit. And then someone else comes along. For a while. But the real problem is that the pay is low and if they have a kiddie or two, they can get more money on benefits than they can earn here. So in effect the government pays them not to work.”

He fell silent for a moment, looking at his hands.

“You know, I've been thinking about work, lately, ever since Dylan told us how boys who grew up around here felt there was no hope of escaping the mine. Well, it was a little like that for me, too.”

Penny leaned closer.

“When I was a lad I fell in with the wrong crowd. We stole a few things, not real bad by today's standards, but I was sent away to Borstal. And that became a life sentence, you might say. All I ever knew was petty crime. And in those days, just like for Dylan, there was no one to say we could do better. Make something of ourselves.”

“What would you do now if you had a chance to do it all again?”

“I came to have a real respect for the law, being as I was on the wrong side of it for so long. I saw how smart the lawyers were and I'm sure the work would have been interesting. So if young Jimmy were here today, he'd pull his finger out, borrow the money, go to uni, and become a solicitor. Maybe even a barrister.”

Penny looked at him in admiration. “You know, Jimmy, I bet you would.”

They exchanged a warm, companionable smile just as the care aide approached and held out a Styrofoam cup. Jimmy held up a “no, thanks” hand and Penny smiled and shook her head.

They watched her move on to the next resident, who raised trembling hands to take the tea and then they turned back to face each other. “Tell me, Jimmy, do you think someone could pretend to be a worker here and get away with it for a day or two before anyone asked any questions?”

Jimmy gave her a sharp look. “Well, yes, I suppose someone could. If they had the right clothes and knew what they were doing. And didn't hang around too long.” He raised an eyebrow. “You thinking of anyone in particular?”

*   *   *

A line of black, bare trees stood in stark silhouette along the top of the hills as Davies and Sgt. Bethan Morgan drove toward the mine. Unable to reach Davies, Penny had called Bethan first thing that morning and talked to her for a few minutes about the implications of Bevan Jones's argument in the market with Glenda Roberts over the toxic air freshener.

“This could be where everything starts to unravel,” Davies remarked. “So far, this investigation's been all over the place and if Bevan Jones is in fact the man who was seen arguing with Glenda Roberts in the market the day before she died, we could be getting someplace. He'll have some explaining to do.”

“Penny thinks…” Bethan began, but Davies interrupted her.

“I think we've had enough of what Penny thinks for now, Sergeant,” he said. “What we need more of here is good solid police-detective work. For example, what about the lab results of the slate splitters? When can we expect them?”

“But I thought you…”

“I do value Penny's input. But just not right now.”

Someone's very tetchy this morning. Well, that's me told, thought Bethan. Now clearly separated by rank, they drove on in awkward silence through the wild mountain pass, as the old keep of Dolwyddelan Castle, the only surviving fortress of the great Welsh prince Llywelyn the Great loomed into view. The views all around them of bleak, bare mountains in mournful shades of brown and grey were stunning in a cold, forbidding way; trees and most of the plant life had given way to a rugged and inhospitable terrain.

“All right,” Davies said, breaking the silence. “Go on, then. What did she say?”

“She can see how we'd want to look at Bevan Jones for Glenda Roberts's murder, but Doreen? The slate in the hands would seem to bind the two victims together, with one killer.”

“That's where the detective work comes into it. If there is a connection, we'll have to find out what that is.” Davies flicked on the turn signal and slowed down for the turn into the Llyn Du mine car park.

Bevan Jones was waiting for them at the reception desk. The greeting was formal and over quickly. “Is there someplace private we can ask you a few questions?” Davies said.

“There's seating outside the caf
é
. Would that do? There's no one around and we won't be bothered.” He led the way along the covered walkway until they came to an outdoor seating area. He gestured at one of the tables and they sat down.

“Mr. Jones,” Bethan Morgan began, “a man was seen arguing with Glenda Roberts in the marketplace the day before she died, apparently over some fake air freshener. He said his son had had a bad reaction to the product and had to be treated in A and E.” She glanced at her notes. “The local hospital tells us that your asthmatic son was treated the night before for shortness of breath and wheezing.” She looked up at Jones. “Were you the man seen shouting at Glenda Roberts?”

Bevan Jones ran his hand across his cheek and mouth and then nodded.

“Yes. I was very angry with her. She was responsible for this dangerous product. I took the can to the hospital and told them I thought it had to do with my lad's condition. He was very poorly. Practically unconscious. They said they'd seen two or three similar cases in young children and the can was full of methanol. It could kill somebody! It harmed my boy and, yes, I was very angry. My wife was beside herself.”

“As a father, I know how you must have felt,” said Davies. “But I wonder if you can imagine how this looks to us. You have a heated argument with our victim and the next day, she's found dead, down your mine. And you're the one who finds her. And she's been killed by a slate splitter, a tool that you had easy access to.”

“Which one?” Bevan asked.

“Which one what?” Davies replied.

“There were three slate splitters. Bryn Thomas has one, one was locked in the display cupboard, and the third one was in the mine as part of a display of tools that we use to demonstrate Victorian mining techniques. The tour guide would talk about it, but not actually use it because the splitting is done up here, as you know. Which slate splitter killed Glenda Roberts?”

“I'm afraid I can't tell you that,” Bethan said. She glanced at Davies. “We're almost finished for today, Mr. Jones. Just a couple more questions, but we may need to speak to you again. Did you kill Glenda Roberts?”

“I did not.”

“Why didn't you mention the argument earlier?”

“Because I knew what it would look like to you.”

“But you must have known we'd find out about it.”

Bevan Jones shrugged.

“I guess I was willing to take my chances.”

“Did you know Glenda's mother, Doreen?”

He shook his head. “Never met her.”

“And why didn't you tell us about the third slate splitter when we first asked you about them?”

“It slipped my mind,” Bevan replied.

In the car on the way back to Llanelen, Bethan got the lab results.

“The third splitter from the Victorian demonstration contains traces of Glenda Roberts's DNA. The other two do not,” she said.

“Interesting. So whoever killed Glenda used the slate splitter because it was handy.”

“And that could have been just about anybody who was down the mine that day.”

 

Forty-two

Penny reached into the wooden bin and pulled out two hard hats and in what was now becoming a familiar gesture, handed one to Victoria and fitted the other one on her head. “I'll be so glad when this concert is over,” she said. “My stomach is positively churning thinking about all the things that could go wrong. And my to-do list is as long as your arm. Check this. Pick up that. Do this. Don't forget that.”

“The great thing is you've got Florence in charge up here,” said Victoria. “You know she'll make sure everything goes well. She'll keep Mrs. Lloyd on track and the food for the after-party will be brilliant. Don't worry. Everything'll be fine.”

“And then there's Karis. She's a loose cannon, if you ask me. Anything could happen there. I hope she'll stick to the program you sorted out with her.”

“She has to,” Victoria replied, “if she wants to get paid.”

“Well, let's get on with it.” Along with the rest of the musicians, they climbed aboard the small train and began the steep descent into the mine. No one spoke as the dark walls of the mine closed in. The train reached its docking station and after reminding everyone in her compartment to mind their heads as they left the train, Penny ducked her head and stepped out onto the floor of the mine. The musicians stood in a small group, awaiting instructions.