White Lies (18 page)

Dafydd looked at his watch. “A little after eight. You’re not going to go over there, are you? That’s a bit ghoulish.”

“Why? I’ve got an appointment. The inspector won’t tell them I was at the cemetery last night so for all they know I’d be arriving for my appointment with Richard, as arranged. I can act suitably shocked once I’m there.”

“And then what? You’re not going to poke your nose in where it doesn’t belong, are you?”

“Of course not.” Meinwen put her tea down. “Unless I’m asked to, of course. I was instrumental in catching his father’s killer, after all. Why shouldn’t I be included in this investigation? And if the family asks me to investigate then the inspector can’t freeze me out of the case.”

“I thought you already had a case to fiddle about with?”

“John Fenstone’s death, yes. But they’re connected, aren’t they? That was why I was going to see Richard today. John had a ring with Richard’s sigil embossed on it. I didn’t think much of it at the time. I already know John was as kinky as a bucket of frogs so it wasn’t a surprise.”

“But the death of this other chap has changed your mind?”

“It has, rather. What are the odds of two people from the same house dying a fortnight apart from each other if they’re not connected?”

“Pretty small, I should think. Was the first death a stabbing as well?”

“No. Hanging. The police ruled it as a suicide but I think it was staged. Why would you hang yourself through the trapdoor of a dingy two-up two-down when you had a penthouse apartment with a mezzanine floor? It makes no sense to me at all.”

Dafydd sat on one of the wicker chairs, tentatively at first in case it didn’t hold his weight. “What if the one last night–Richard?–killed the one last week and then killed himself in a fit of remorse?”

“By stabbing?” Meinwen made a face. “I don’t think so. Nobody kills themselves by stabbing themselves in the stomach.”

“The Japanese do. Hara-kiri, is it?”

“But that’s a ritual disembowelment to preserve honor, usually swiftly followed by beheading. Not stabbing yourself twice and then waiting in excruciating agony to bleed out. No. This was a murder, sure as eggs is eggs.”

“What about the bloke who was hung? Did he have anyone that might have wanted to get even. You said the last killer you caught was a priest. What if this killer is a rabbi and goes for the life-for-a-life approach?”

“It would have to be someone who cared for John Fenstone and was willing to risk going to prison to get vengeance.”

“Stabbings are usually crimes of passion. Heat of the moment stuff. Usually a wife or a girlfriend. “ Dafydd grinned and leaned back in the chair. “I learned that watching
CSI
.”

“We don’t have their fancy computers over here in the real world.” Meinwen gave a deep sigh and sank into the other chair. “And John Fenstone was gay. It does highlight a suspect, though.”

“Oh?”

“John Fenstone had a brother, Jimmy. He’s the one that came to me to ask if I’d investigate John’s death. The police had sent him off with a flea in his ear, saying it was a suicide when Jimmy was convinced it wasn’t. I believe him, too. John Fenstone was too successful to be a suicide. Everyone who knew him said he was a cheerful man, fond of flirting with both sexes. He had a house to die for as well.”

Dafydd winced. “A house to die for? Would that be the motive?”

“No. Jimmy inherits the lot and he was in prison at the time of his brother’s death.”

“Did he know about John’s involvement with Richard?”

Meinwen looked up. “That’s the problem. We were together when we found the ring yesterday. I told him it was Richard Godwin’s sigil.”

“Rather coincidental timing, if this friend of yours isn’t the killer, “Does he have an alibi?”

“Not from me, he doesn’t. I left him at six and Richard was killed at what? Midnight?”

“Are you going to tell the police?”

“I don’t know.” Meinwen sighed again. “I’ve got to, haven’t I?”

Chapter 16

Meinwen stared at her mobile phone. She had the inspector on her list of ten most frequently dialed numbers but much as her finger hovered over the button, she couldn’t bring herself to press it. She put it down again.

“You’ve got to do it.” Dafydd had boiled the kettle and made himself another coffee since they’d been in the conservatory. “Do you want me to phone it in? Then you can deny all knowledge of my spilling the beans.” He took a swig of his coffee. “Talking of beans, where did you get these from? The coffee tastes like it’s been spilled already and then scraped up off the floor of Winson Green nick.”

“It’s ethical trade. I paid nearly four quid a packet more than the supermarket brand and I thought that was expensive.”

“That explains it. It’s been recycled once already, through the bladder of someone who enjoyed the real thing. Honestly, Meinwen. If I stay over another night I’m going out for provisions.”

“All right.”

“What?”

“I said ‘all right’. As long as you’re paying for it I’ll take the philosophy of whatever food appears is the will of Allah. Or Jehovah. Or Mohammed. Whichever deity it is that presides over free meals.”

“Bento, isn’t it?”

“The Japanese god of artistic sustenance? Maybe.” Meinwen smiled. “If it’s alms food it’s good food.”

“That sounds reasonable.” Dafydd leaned back against the sink. “It won’t be anything fancy, though.”

“That’s all right.” Meinwen closed her phone and dropped it back in her voluminous handbag. “I’ll phone the inspector after I’ve been to the Larches.”

“You’re not still going? What’s the point of keeping your appointment when he’s dead?”

“They don’t know I know he’s dead, remember? I shall act sufficiently surprised and shocked to discover the news. It’ll give me the chance to have a word with my friend Jennifer and see what’s going on at the house.”

“Isn’t that immoral? Lying to the recently bereaved?”

“I won’t lie to them. I just won’t let on that I was at the cemetery last night when the inspector broke the news. I was fond of Richard. I can give my condolences to his wife and see if there were any other leads to his murderer at the same time.”

“Do be careful, love. Where there’s a murder there’s someone out to conceal it.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve been in this position before. I can handle myself in a fight, you know.”

“With what? Chanting slogans?”

“No. I do self-defense for women at the community arts center in Blackwell Street every Thursday night.” She scowled at Dafydd’s bark of laughter. “What?”

“I just can’t imagine you doing karate.”

“It’s not karate. Not just karate, anyway. It’s a combination of lots of martial arts collated especially for women. Ju-jitsu, savate, bo-jutsu and anything else the instructor thinks could come in handy. Rolls, kicks, punches and throwing small objects with accuracy.”

“So if I came at you with a weapon,” he picked up a banana and held it like a dagger. “You could defend yourself?”

“Theoretically.” She smiled. “Of course, self-defense against a banana was covered by Monty Python in the seventies.” She plucked it out of his hand, peeled and bit off the top. “There,” she said through a mouthful of banana goo. “I’ve disarmed you.”

He laughed. “So who teaches you all this self defense malarkey then?”

“One of the police women. She does it for nothing, on the basis that the fewer women get beaten up the easier her day job is. We all pay a couple of quid a week to cover the cost of the hall.”

“They should do that all over.”

“You won’t get any argument from me. Of course, it helps to have a good walking stick or umbrella, too. Preferable silver tipped.”

“Silver tipped?”

“To beat off the werewolves.” Meinwen dropped the banana peel into his hand. “Put that in the biodegradable waste bin, would you? The green one.”

“Sure.” He crossed the kitchen and opened the green bin. “Eurgh.”

“Now what?”

“This is full of rotting vegetables.”

“Yes. Sorry. I was busy yesterday else I would have emptied it onto the compost. Just put the lid back. I’ll see to it later. What time is it?”

Dafydd looked at his watch. “Half past eight, why?”

“I haven’t got to be at the Larches until eleven. That gives me a couple of hours free.” She wondered what Jimmy was doing at that moment. Still asleep? Showering? Licking beer from the navel of some floozy? She shook her head free of the images. “Get your coat. You’re taking me for a drive.”

“I am? Where to?”

“Mill Street.” Meinwen dragged her heavy woolen coat off the peg and pulled it on. “I can’t do anything about Richard’s murder until later so I’ll get on with the John Fenston case. He had a second job at a hotel there.”

“What? As a bell hop or something?”

“I’ll go with the something. He pulled in an average of two or three hundred a day.”

“Blimey. I wouldn’t mind working somewhere for that kind of money. What was he? A male prostitute?”

“That was my guess, too.”

“What a fantastic job. Having sex with different women and getting paid for it? That’s what I’m talking about. Think there might be an opening there now he’s gone? Not that I want to step into his grave or nothing.”

“I’m sure they be delighted to have you filling his shoes. Of course, they’ll probably want you to demonstrate your talents in the relevant area.”

“I can do that. You could vouch for my skills in the bedroom too, couldn’t you?”

“They won’t be interested in my opinion, lover boy. John was gay.”

“Gay? You mean...”

“With other men, yes. But don’t let me stop you living your dream.” She slipped into her boots, grinning as Dafydd spluttered behind her. “Come on, sugar. Grab your keys.”

“Right.” He pulled on his jacket and followed her out, crossing to the van while she locked the front door.

She turned away from the cloud of black smoke that poured from the exhaust, trying not to cough. It cleared after a few seconds and she felt safe to get in, or would have done if he’d unlocked the passenger door.

“Sorry.” He leaned across and pulled up the door lock. “It’s a habit. Leave the doors unlocked and you get kids climbing in while you’re serving in the back.”

“I can see that would be a problem.” She twisted in the seat to look at the interior. There were two freezers, an urn for boiling water and a gas fired barbecue grill plate. Dafydd generally sold ice cream in the summer and hot food the rest of the time. Keeping both in the same van was an operational nightmare at times. “What are you carrying at the moment?”

“Nothing much. I cleaned most of the stuff out to bring your statue down. There are some hot dogs and burgers in the freezer if you’re desperate. No buns, though. They went moldy and the customers complained.”

“You were giving moldy bread to your customers?”

“Sure. I told them beforehand, look you, and gave them a discount.”

“And still they complained?” She shook her head. “You can’t please some people.”

“That’s what I thought.” Dafydd put the van into reverse and backed out of the drive. More clouds of black smoke appeared as he put his foot on the accelerator. “Where are we going then?”

“Mill Street. Back out and turn left.” She coughed. “You know you can get done for emissions, don’t you?”

“She’ll be fine in a minute. She always blows a bit when she’s been standing.”

“Standing? You drove all the way from Aberdovey in it yesterday.”

“Yeah. She’s been standing all night. Give her five minutes, she’ll be fine.”

“I hope so. I don’t want to get stopped.” She frowned. “The other left. Now you’ll have to turn around.”

“How was I to know which left you meant? We were going backward.”

“Our left, obviously. This is St Pity’s car park.”

“I can turn here, can’t I?”

“This is the car park to the cemetery. It’s a good job there’s no funeral being conducted.”