The Cold Light of Mourning (20 page)

No, I mustn’t, he thought. Tempting, but I mustn’t.

A few moments later, deep in thought, he walked over to his bookcase, reached in behind a dusty anthology of Edwardian sermons, and pulled out a cigarette box.

Well, just the one, he told himself as he opened the window and leaned out. Just a few puffs. He inhaled deeply. Ahhh. He watched the grey smoke drift away on the light morning breeze.

But the business about Emyr weighed heavily on him all day and by evening he had decided to go around and have a word with Penny and Victoria.

“I’m just going to pop out for a little while, dear,” he told his wife. “I’d like to see how our Victoria’s doing. You’ll be all right on your own here for a bit, won’t you?”

“Yes, of course, Thomas,” she replied. “I’ve got in a new library book I’ve been looking forward to, so off you go.”

She helped him on with his jacket, and then stood at the window, pulling back the curtain slightly, as she watched his familiar figure set off on the short walk to Penny’s flat.

When she was sure he was well on his way, she poured herself a small sherry, settled into a comfortable chintz chair, reached down the side, and pulled out the latest in a popular series of Regency Romances. She smiled at the cover image of the heroine with her flowing hair and luscious, pushed-up breasts. With a contented sigh, hoping the story would include a handsome earl with a smart carriage, she opened the book and was soon whisked away to the Assembly Rooms in Bath where a candlelit ball was about to begin.

“It’s not settled until it’s settled right,” Rev. Evans was saying to Penny and Victoria. “Believe me, Emyr just doesn’t have it in him to do these dreadful things and I think the police are making a terrible mistake. Why would they take any notice of that awful woman?”

Penny and Victoria nodded.

“It does seem hard to believe,” Victoria said, “but apparently she told them lots of details that only someone involved in the crime could possibly know, and she says Emyr was in on it.” She looked at Penny. “And we did see them together in Llandudno that day and you have to admit, they were looking awfully chummy.”

Penny looked from one concerned face to the other.

“I agree it doesn’t seem right. I don’t know Emyr very well, but this does seem completely out of character to me. It doesn’t sound like something he’d be capable of, does it?”

They sat in silence for a moment.

“Listen,” said Penny. “I don’t know what you’d think of this idea, but I’ve been wishing that Emma was here because she knew Emyr and the other two when they were lads, and she always used to say, ‘Show me the boy and I’ll give you the man.’ ”

“Yes, she did,” agreed Rev. Thomas. “Very wise, was Emma. Then again, she might have been paraphrasing Wordsworth. You know, the child is the father of the man.”

“Well, wherever it came from,” continued Penny, “the thing is, she kept notebooks in which she wrote down her comments on how the school year was going and her observations about her pupils, especially in their last year or so with her. She often jotted down where she thought they were headed, and loved when they proved her right. She found the notes handy when talking to parents about their child’s progress or planning for next year, especially as she got older. There are dozens of these books, going back years. Anyway, if we could see what she wrote all those years ago about the men in the wedding party, back when they were kids, that might give us some insight into their characters now. Might show us what direction we need to go in. Who should be on our radar.”

She looked from one to the other.

“What do you think? Should we go and get them?”

“Are you suggesting what I think you are?” asked Rev. Evans. “That we should just waltz over there, break into her cottage, and help ourselves to her notebooks, wherever they are?”

“Well, no, not exactly,” said Penny. “It’s not as bad as it sounds. I know where the key to the back door is hidden and where the notebooks live, so it wouldn’t exactly be breaking and entering … it would be more, well, just going over there and letting ourselves in and borrowing them, really.” She thought over what she had just said. “Yes, that’s all it would be. And then, of course, we’d return them,” she added.

Victoria and Rev. Evans glanced at each other and then turned their attention back to Penny.

“Let me think about this,” said Rev. Evans. “I must not do, or be seen to be doing, anything that could possibly be considered illegal or unethical. I have to be mindful of my position, see.”

He folded his hands together and leaned on them. After a few moments he sat up straight.

“I suggest we look at it this way. If she were here, Emma would be glad to help. Indeed, she would want to help. But as she’s not here, if this is the only way she can help, then this is the way it has to be.

“Perhaps I could just wait here?” he added hopefully.

“No, sorry, Rector, we need you to hold the torch,” said Penny. “Victoria will be the lookout. It’s getting dark now, so let’s get ourselves sorted and then be off.”

They walked silently through the back streets to Emma’s cottage, located on a quiet lane backing onto a gently wooded area. With a quick look around to make sure they were not being observed, they edged their way around to the back of the cottage, brushing aside some overgrown foliage as they went. Reaching under a stone urn filled with dry, dying geraniums, Penny pulled out the key to the back door, placed it in the lock, and turned it.

A few moments later they were standing in the small kitchen. The air was close and musty, heavy with the empty smell of abandonment and recent neglect.

“I should have come around and checked on things,” Penny muttered. “I should have made sure everything was okay. You know, with all that’s happened, it never occurred to me. Emma would be so upset if she—”

Rev. Thomas put his hand on Penny’s arm.

“Don’t think about it now,” he said softly. “Let’s just get through this as quickly as we can and we’ll talk about all the rest of it later.”

Penny nodded and led the way into the small sitting room that lay in front of them. Victoria knelt on the small sofa in front of the window and pulled the curtains shut.

“I saw that in a film,” she said. “The first thing you do is close the blinds.”

“Right,” said Penny. “Let’s switch on the torch and shine it over here,” she said, motioning to the bookcase. “Victoria, twitch the curtain open a crack and watch to make sure nobody comes.”

Penny and Rev. Evans made their way to the bookcase where rows of small red notebooks, with the years embossed on the spines in gold, were neatly lined up. By the light of the small torch she ran her fingers along the books. “Nineteen seventy-six … that would be too early. They’re about thirty-two years old now, so we should be looking at—

“Try 1981,” said the rector.

Penny pulled out that year and flipped through it.

“No, don’t see anything. I’ll try the next one.”

The only sound was the rustling of pages as she checked the entries.

Sensing her rising distress, the rector tried to comfort her.

“Don’t think about the handwriting, just keep going.”

Penny stepped back.

“I can’t touch them. You look.”

The rector handed over the torch and Penny tried to hold it steady.

“Sorry,” she muttered. “I wasn’t emotionally prepared for this.”

The rector didn’t reply but kept leafing through a small notebook.

“Here we are. This is the one we want! Let’s take it back to your place and we’ll read it there.”

Victoria let the curtain drop and once the torch had been switched off, opened the curtains again. By the soft glow from the streetlamp they made their way to the back door which Penny locked, and then replaced the key under the urn.

The rector tucked the notebook into his jacket and as quietly as they had come, they melted away into the night.

Twenty-nine

S
hould we have a cup of tea or a glass of wine?” Victoria asked.

“Wine, please!” said Penny and the rector in unison.

“Right, here you go,” said Victoria, plunking down three glasses and a cold bottle of Chardonnay.

“Let’s hear it, then.”

“I’ll start with Emyr,” said the rector over the sound of wine gurgling into glasses. “She writes and I quote: ‘A quiet, gentle boy, easily led. Eager to please and anxious to be liked. Helpful in the classroom. Comes from secure home. Much-loved only child of wealthy parents. Will feel he has position to uphold and may resent expectations placed upon him because of inheritance.’

“This was”—he turned the book so he could see the spine—“1983. Sounds a lot like him today. How perceptive Emma was,” he said admiringly. He nodded his thanks at Victoria for the wine and took a sip.

“Right. Let’s see what she had to say about Robbie Llewellyn.

“Sharp-witted. His work is careful and sustained. Solitary and studious. Would do well in profession where work is detailed and requires careful thought and planning. The law, perhaps. Suspect he is homosexual but not yet aware of it.”

“Careful thought and planning,” repeated Penny. “That would describe Meg Wynne’s murder. Emma was right, he did become a lawyer, and a good one, by all accounts. Didn’t know he was gay, though. I guess he keeps that hidden.”

She fingered the stem of her glass and looked at Victoria.

“How are you holding up? Are you okay?”

Victoria nodded. “I want to hear what she says about David.”

“David?” asked the rector.

“David Williams.”

“There’s no David, here,” said the rector, scanning the names and then turning the page. “Oh wait, this must be him. He looked up at them. “Or should that be ‘he’?” He shrugged. “Anyway, Dafydd Williams.” He read silently to himself. “Hmmm. Sounds like trouble. She describes him as ‘Very self-confident. Does not take responsibility for own actions. Blames others when things go wrong. Alarming sense of entitlement. Talks a good game but short on substance. Cannot apply himself to one task for long. Takes credit for others’ work. Makes friends easily. Demonstrates leadership qualities but always for own purpose. Will stop at nothing to get what he wants (ruthless). Home life unsettled and violent. Will likely end up in position of some power or in trouble with the law.’ ”

He closed the book and the three of them looked at one another.

“I knew it!” exclaimed Penny. “It was Williams. It had to be. And if we’re going to help Emyr, we’ll have to find a way to prove to the police that it’s that weasel Williams they want, not Emyr.”

The rector started to say something and then looked at his watch.

“Oh, good heavens! Is that the time?” he exclaimed, jumping up from the table. “Bronwyn will be wondering whatever’s become of me. I must go.” He touched Victoria on the shoulder. “You’ll keep me informed, won’t you? We’re all in this together now, aren’t we?” He looked from one to the other. “Oh, and it might be a good idea if I saw you two in church on Sunday. If there’s any forgiveness needed for our activity this evening, we’ll seek it then.”

Penny smiled at him as Victoria reached up and patted his hand.

“Thank you, Thomas,” she said.

“God bless you, my dears,” he replied. “No, don’t get up. I’ll see myself out.”

Rev. Evans felt deeply troubled but at the same time, strangely exhilarated on the short walk home. The night was calm and clear as he made his way along the deserted street. When he reached the rectory he paused for a moment, looked up at the stars, and silently thanked God for all the blessings in his life.

If he was mildly worried that his wife would be cross with him for staying out so late, he needn’t have been. He arrived to find Bronwyn waiting up for him and in a very good mood. She had had a bath and was wearing a new cappuccino-coloured nightdress with a matching dressing gown. Her ensemble showed rather more lace and cleavage than the rector was used to, and as he bent over to kiss her, he noticed that she had dabbed on a few drops of the light perfume he had given her for Christmas.

When he saw that her favourite magnolia-scented candles had been set out, waiting to be lit, he couldn’t believe his luck.

“I’ll just go and fetch my lighter, darling,” he said in a husky voice. “Won’t be a tick.”

“That woman is lying to protect the killer,” said Penny over her shoulder as she rinsed the wineglasses. “What do you think? Do you think it was David Williams?”

Victoria nodded.

“But we have no proof,” Penny continued, turning back to the sink. “And we definitely need to find out why. Why would he kill her? Why would he attack you?” She shut off the taps and turning around as she dried her hands, was startled to see Victoria looking drawn and pale. She walked over and rested her hand on her shoulder.

“I can’t think anymore tonight, Pen,” Victoria said, gazing up at her friend. “I’m too tired and this is doing my head in.”

“Mine, too,” Penny agreed. “But there’s something in that book that I can’t quite put my finger on, but it’s the key to this whole thing and if we …”

Her voice trailed off as Victoria slumped over the table with her head resting on her arms.

“Gosh, you are all in. And here’s me going on and on. I’m so sorry. It’s all caught up with you. Let’s get you to bed.”

Penny tried to read her library book for about half an hour, and then, too distracted to continue, took off her reading glasses and set them on the nightstand. She closed her eyes and began to drift downward into sleep but just as she was about to cross the threshold into unconsciousness, was jerked awake.

That’s it! she thought. That wasn’t what she meant. It was like the flowers on the Queen Mother’s hat from the jigsaw puzzle that she and Emma had done so long ago. You think it’s one thing, but when you see it in context, it’s something else.

The book thudded to the floor as she threw back the covers and got out of bed. Not stopping to find her slippers, she padded quickly along to Victoria’s room. She could hear soft, gentle breathing as she approached the bed and as her eyes adjusted to the darkness she could see that Victoria was lying on her side, facing away from her.

“Victoria!” she said softly, touching her shoulder. “Are you awake?”

“Ohh, I am now,” Victoria said sleepily as she rolled over to face Penny. “What is it? What’s so important?” she moaned. “Can’t it wait?”

“It probably could have, and God, I’m so sorry, Victoria. I should have thought but something’s just come to me. It’s what you said when we found you after you were attacked. I thought you said you were going to die, but thinking about it now, that seems strange. I don’t think someone who’d been attacked would say they were going to die; I think it would be more likely for them to
ask
if they were going to die.”

She sat on the edge of the bed as Victoria shifted over to make room.

“Wait,” whispered Victoria. “Don’t say anything for a moment.”

She reached over and turned on the bedside light. As its warm light cast a soft glow over the bed, she placed her pale green pillows against the wall and sat up against them.

Penny got up off the bed to allow Victoria to pull the duvet up over her chest.

“Okay,” said Victoria as she tucked her arms under the covers. “I’m ready. Let’s hear it.”

“I think someone would ask if they were going to die,” repeated Penny as she sat down on the edge of the bed. “But you didn’t say it as a question; you said it as a statement. And I’ve just realized, what you said was ‘Dai’—you know, the nickname for Dafydd. But of course it’s pronounced ‘die’.”

Victoria let out a small gasp.

“That’s what was in Emma’s book … he’s not David Williams—that’s his big, fancy London persona. He’s Dafydd Williams. That was his name back then and you knew him as Dai. Victoria, I think when we found you, you told me the name of the person who attacked you. And then you blacked out, and lost all memory of what happened.”

As the pain and fear of the past few days welled up inside her, and the tears finally came, Victoria pulled up her knees and sobbed.

“Don’t you worry,” Penny said, jumping up to comfort her. “We’ll get the bastard. I’ll call Gareth first thing in the morning.”