The Cold Light of Mourning (13 page)

Sixteen

O
h, dear God!”

The rector’s face was a study in heart-wrenching distress underwritten by amazement. “I cannot believe that such a thing could be possible. Oh, who would do such a wicked thing?”

As the implications for his church began to dawn on him, his face hardened slightly, his shoulders squared imperceptibly, and he readied himself for the challenge that lay ahead.

“Well, you’d better tell me what to expect so I can be prepared for whatever you plan to do,” he said, placing his hands on the desk in front of him. “And whatever you need me to do,” he added.

“We’re putting the paperwork in place now,” Davies told him, “and we expect the Home Office will give it priority and treat it as urgent. We should get the approval later tonight, and we’re mobilizing equipment now. My sergeant has your number, but just to be on the safe side, you’d better let me have it, too, and one of us will ring you as soon as we hear anything.”

The two men stood, and Davies offered his hand, which the rector accepted and shook. With a businesslike nod, which he hoped would be seen as reassuring, Davies left. As the door closed behind him, the rector sank back into his chair with a worried, puzzled look on his face.

And now back to our manicure lady, thought Davies as he made his way through the centre of town to the small side street where her shop and flat were located.

Penny met him at the door.

“You seem a bit better, now,” he said to her on the way upstairs. “Feeling a little more settled?”

“I am, thanks. I’m glad Victoria was able to be here, but I wish I could tell her what’s the matter.”

“We can fill her in now,” Davies said. “I’ve come to let you know what’s happening.”

He entered the small living room where Victoria was sitting at one end of the sofa. She looked startled and started to rise when he entered, but he gestured to her to stay seated.

“Victoria, this is Detective Chief Inspector Davies. He’s come to tell us something,” Penny said.

“Hello,” Davies said to her and then, turning to Penny, added, “I wanted to bring you up to date. Do you think we could sit down?” Without waiting for a reply, he moved a plaid cushion out of the way and lowered himself into the wing chair as Penny sat down beside Victoria. The two of them leaned forward and looked at him expectantly.

Davies cleared his throat and then looked at Penny.

“We are going ahead with an exhumation order, and if we get the approval later this evening, as I think we will, we intend to move quickly.

“I’ll leave you now. You can tell Mrs. Hopkirk what you know but I ask that the two of you keep it to yourselves for the time being. Word will be out soon enough, I imagine.”

“How soon?” asked Penny. “When will you do this?”

“We’ll go at first light tomorrow.”

“That soon?”

“That soon. It’s always better to get this sort of thing over and done with as quickly as possible before the rumour machine can really take hold. As it is, too many people will probably know about it.”

Leaving a stunned Penny to sort out a mystified Victoria, Davies made his way back down the stairs and out into the street. He reached for his mobile to call Morgan to come and get him. If Penny Brannigan was right, and he was now starting to think that she was, they would need to have a quick dinner and prepare themselves for a long, busy night.

A few hours later the fax machine in the North Wales headquarters churned out the document they had been waiting for.

“Right, Bethan, you’re going to have to work flat out for the next couple of hours. I need you to organize the press office, arrange for the videographer and still photographer, the crime scene people—everybody. The earth moving equipment is ordered?”

At Morgan’s nod, he gave her a friendly pat on the shoulder.

“Well, then, I’ll leave it with you. I need to notify the superintendent and the other senior officers. Get everything ready tonight and then pick me up at four-thirty. We’ll aim to start at first light or just before.

“Oh, and don’t forget,” he added, “we’ll need a few rolls of yellow tape to establish the perimeter area.”

Sometime in the night, Penny was awakened by the gentle sound of rain pattering on the leaves of the trees outside her window. As she lay there listening, wrapped in melancholy, she thought of the whole sorry business that would unfold in the coming day, and felt a small tear trickle down her cheek. The rain was making everything seem unbearably sad. She turned over and looked at the clock—4:22. She doubted she would be able to get back to sleep but it was too early to get up, and besides, she didn’t want to disturb Victoria who had settled in for the night on the sofa. She would have to wait it out in the silence of the pre-dawn darkness, with her fears and memories to keep her company.

As she lay there, her thoughts turned to Emma and how much she missed her quiet, undemanding companionship. Philip Wightman had been right; they had been a lot alike, especially in the way they took great pleasure in the simplest things. They had read the same kinds of books, mostly biographies and mysteries borrowed from the local library but sometimes bought secondhand from the village bookstore; treated themselves on special occasions to afternoon tea with scones, strawberry jam, and clotted cream in the village tea shop; and regularly taken long rambling walks in the beautiful countryside that framed the town while they discussed what kind of dog they’d choose to have trotting along beside them—if they were to get a dog, that is.

They always had a jigsaw puzzle on the go in the front room of Emma’s cottage that they pieced together on lazy Sunday afternoons, gin and tonic in hand, as the warm sun filtered through the mullioned windows, casting dappled grey shadows that shifted and swayed in time with the gentle rustling of the apple tree in the front garden. Penny remembered fondly how her friend used to hide the lid of the puzzle box so she, Penny, would have to put it together without knowing what the final image was meant to look like. But Emma was predictable in her choice of puzzles and Penny knew that eventually they would have assembled a lighthouse with threatening waves crashing around it in the moonlight, an exuberant garden filled with blowsy roses in every imaginable colour, or some idealized Scottish castle perched high on a hill. But once, after Penny had complained she was getting a bit bored with all the chocolate-box landscapes, a picture of a smiling Queen Mother in a hat dripping with lilacs had emerged.

“Now then, Miss Smarty Pants,” Emma had teased. “I knew the flowers on her hat would mislead you! It didn’t turn out to be what you thought it was, did it?”

As Penny was drifting back to sleep a small convoy was winding its way along the dark, damp road leading to Llanelen. The vehicles’ headlights gave off an eerie, diffused yellow light revealing mist clinging to black trees. And as the rain let up just before sunrise the vehicles came to a stop beside the church and cut their engines.

Moving silently in the muted greyness that signals the coming dawn, a practiced, proficient team of experts went about their tasks. Conversation was kept to the minimum and when they needed to speak to one another, they spoke in soft voices.

Their arrival, however, had been noticed.

“Someone’s coming, sir,” said Morgan in a low voice, pointing to a figure emerging from the darkness.

“That’ll be the rector; he said he wanted to be here and I’d expect him to be,” replied Davies.

“Good morning,” said Rev. Evans as he broke through the mist. He looked as if he had dressed in a hurry and Davies doubted if he’d slept much that night. “I thought it would be appropriate for me to be here for Emma—to provide a spiritual presence, no matter the outcome. And my wife will have coffee for your team whenever you’re ready for it. Just knock on the door and let her know.”

“That’s very good of you, Rector,” replied Davies. “We’re going to press on, now, but I’m sure the coffee will be most welcome in an hour or so. We’ve put up the barrier tape, so if you wouldn’t mind standing just over there,” he said, pointing in the direction of a small stand of trees at the edge of the tenting which had been erected to protect the site, “we’ll try to do this with the least amount of disruption possible. I think everything’s in position now.”

He gestured to the officer standing nearest the earth mover and, as the first notes of birdsong announced the beginning of the dawn chorus, the sound of heavy equipment starting up filled the air. The machine worked viciously, swiftly and efficiently. The grave was opened and lifting equipment placed under the coffin. With large clots of mud clinging to its sides, the coffin containing the mortal remains of Emma Teasdale was slowly lifted out of the earth and gently swung to one side where it was lowered to the ground and covered with a tarpaulin. The grave gave off a dank smell of dark, forbidden earth mixed with rotting leaves.

Standing at the top of the empty grave, Davies motioned to the lighting expert to switch on the overhead set of tungsten lights. Suddenly, the scene was lit with the bright white glare of lights that shone with ferocious intensity into the grave.

Davies nodded again and the videographer and still photographer took their places, ready to record everything as it happened.

“Ready, sir!” said a scene-of-crime expert as he lowered a small ladder into the grave. He scrambled down, stepped off the second to last rung with a soft thud, and began working carefully and systematically in one corner of the grave. The tension grew as he brushed aside the damp dirt and placed it in a small bucket which was then lifted to the top and piled to one side.

A few minutes later, he gave a shout.

“I’ve found something, sir. Look, it’s a shoe.”

He held it up for those above him to see.

“It’s a strappy, black sandal type.”

He handed it up to Morgan, who took it in her gloved hand and examined it before placing it in a plastic evidence bag.

She nodded at Davies.

“It’s a Chanel sling back. It could very well belong to Meg Wynne. If the shoe fits, sir—”

She was interrupted by another shout from below.

“There’s definitely something here.”

They leaned over the side and looked where the officer was pointing. There, emerging from the rich, dark Welsh soil, was a human foot.

“Female, by the looks of it, sir. The toes are painted.”

Seventeen

S
ergeant, ring the coroner. She’ll have been half expecting the call.”

Davies then ducked his head and turned away. Morgan, making no effort to conceal her excitement, leaned over for a better look.

The officers continued with their work and a few minutes later the body was revealed. She was lying on her side, fully clothed, with her arms above her head.

“She looks as if she had been thrown or rolled over the side,” Morgan commented to Davies. “She isn’t displayed or laid out. She’s floppy. She was dumped.”

Davies glanced at the photographer and videographer to make sure they were capturing everything.

A few moments later came another shout. “I think we’ve got her handbag, sir!”

“Let’s have it,” Morgan called down.

She pulled on a pair of latex gloves, reached down for the small black bag, and turned it over to look at the logo. Kate Spade.

“For everyday,” Morgan muttered. She unzipped the bag and looked at the contents. A lipstick, a mobile telephone, a small change purse, and a leather billfold bulging with plastic cards. She pulled out the first one, a platinum American Express card, and showed it to Davies. He looked at the name and nodded.

“Make the calls, Sergeant,” he ordered, “but I want the important elements done in person, not by phone. Ask the Durham force to go to her parents’ home to tell them that we’ve found a body answering their daughter’s description so they can prepare themselves, pending a formal identification. This could be national news within hours, and best they hear it from us. We’ll ask Emyr Gruffydd if he’d be willing to identify the body. Otherwise we’ll have to wait until the father can get here.

“We’re also going to need dental records; you’ll probably need to get those from London. We’ve had the wrong woman once before in this case, and we need to be absolutely sure.”

Morgan nodded and took a few steps back from the grave.

The police officers continued processing the scene. Soon a plastic bag containing a mobile phone was handed up.

Morgan shot Davies a puzzled look.

“I’ve already got her mobile,” she said. “It was in her handbag.” “You’ll need to trace both of them,” Davies told her. “She could have had two. Some people do, but I can’t think why. I’ve only got the one and I hate it.”

Several minutes later the activity in the grave stopped and the officer looked up.

“I think that’s everything that’s here, sir,” he said. “Shall we prepare to move the body?”

Davies looked around.

“Not yet. The coroner needs to take a look first,” he said. “She should be on her way by now. Where the hell is she?”

He looked around. Beyond the churchyard and across the river he could now make out the town’s three-arched bridge; the coming lightness had imperceptibly pushed aside the heavy darkness of night. Lighter shades of grey touched the trees around the graveyard and soon the first faint blushes of dawn would signal that a new day had begun.

Davies looked down at the officer standing in the grave.

“Make absolutely sure you get everything there is to be had out of this grave,” he said. “We’ve only got one chance to do this. And make sure everything you do get is processed properly—fibres, fingerprints, the lot.”

A few minutes ticked by, and Davies remembered the rector’s offer of coffee. Now’s the time, he thought, and asked one of the officers to knock on the door of the rectory and let Mrs. Evans know they were ready for it.

“And be sure to thank her,” he added testily.

As the officers were standing under the trees drinking their coffee, the coroner arrived, suited up, and climbed into the grave.

Davies watched as she knelt beside the body and gently examined it.

About ten minutes later she was standing beside him explaining her preliminary findings as the officers prepared the body for removal.

“Be careful,” Davies called down to them. “Don’t drop or lose anything. Sorry,” he said, turning back to the coroner.

“As I was saying, there are several heavy blows to the back of the head just here,” she said, almost touching the back of her own head with a gloved hand, “with what looks like some kind of flat, blunt instrument. There are also ligature marks around her neck, so on top of the head wounds, she was strangled. Can’t tell you with what, yet, but whatever it was, it wasn’t left in place on the victim.”

She picked up her bag and prepared to leave.

“We’ll have more for you after the autopsy, but I would say the body’s been dead for about a week. As for manner of death, do I need to tell you? But for the record, it’s clearly a homicide.”

Two hours later the shrouded body was on its way to the morgue in Bangor for identification and autopsy, the coffin of Emma Teasdale had been returned to the earth, and the team had dispersed to begin writing their reports and processing still photos and videos. Davies was on his way to pay a call.

“I came to give you the results myself,” he said to an anxious Penny, “and to thank you. We did find a body exactly where you thought we would, and although we’re waiting on final and formal identification, we’re pretty sure it will turn out to be that of Meg Wynne Thompson. So thank you for coming forward with what was really only a hunch or a bit of intuition. If it hadn’t been for you, we probably never would have found her. And I’m sure that’s exactly what the killer was counting on.”

He stopped for a moment, and seemed unsure whether to continue.

“I hate that word, ‘closure,’ I have no idea what it means, but people always use it in circumstances like this, and say, ‘Oh, well, at least now her parents can have closure,’ so for what that’s worth, I’m sure her parents will be grateful to have a body they can bury. I’ve seen other parents, and believe me, it’s far worse not knowing what happened to your child.”

Penny looked up at him with her lips set in a firm line and nodded.

“Would you like a cup of tea or coffee?” she asked. “Victoria was just about to put the kettle on, weren’t you?”

“I was,” she said as she left the room. “Really, I was.”

“How long is she going to stop with you?” Davies asked. “Just out of curiosity. I thought she was just coming over to sit with you for an hour or so.”

“We’re not sure, but we’re enjoying each other’s company, and I’m in no hurry for her to leave and she’s in no hurry to get back to her cousin, so I expect she’ll stop with me for another day or two,” Penny replied.

Davies nodded thoughtfully.

“Look,” he said, “I think if you don’t mind I won’t have that coffee now. We’ve got a lot on just at the minute and I need to get back to the station.” He hesitated, looked over Penny’s shoulder, and finally managed to bring his eyes back to hers.

“I wondered if I might take a rain check. On the coffee. Another time when we’re not so … when things aren’t …”

“Yes, of course,” said Penny. “When everything is more …”

She smiled at him, tentatively at first, but then openly and comfortably.

“I really want to thank you for taking the time to come by and tell me yourself. Maybe when you know more, you’ll—”

She was interrupted by Victoria returning with the coffee tray.

“Victoria, the chief inspector won’t be staying for coffee after all,” said Penny, as Davies stood up. “He’s got rather a lot on today, and he’s decided to leave.”

“Right,” said Victoria. “Well, another time, perhaps.”

“Yes,” said Davies. “I’ll see myself out.” He nodded at the two women and then made his way to the door at the top of the stairs.

Victoria watched as Penny’s eyes followed his progress.

When the door had closed behind him she looked thoughtfully at her new friend.

“This is so awful, I know, Penny, but you have to admit it’s also terribly exciting. You’re at the centre of a murder investigation! Now why don’t I pour our coffee and then we can go over everything that happened that morning? Maybe you’ll remember something else that could help the police!”

Penny sighed, closed her eyes, and leaned her head back on the chair.

“You know, Victoria, we were up really early for this today and I’m suddenly totally knackered. I didn’t sleep much last night, as you can imagine, and I think I’ll go back to bed for an hour or so before it’s time to open the shop. I really can’t deal with any more of this right now.”

Victoria looked aghast.

“Oh, how stupid of me! Of course, you must be exhausted. I should have thought. What a moron I am!”

Penny smiled at her.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself and don’t talk about yourself like that. Your brain might be listening! We’ll definitely have this little chat, though, because I do want to go over everything very carefully and try to remember as much as I can. I might have missed something, but I can’t think what. Maybe it’ll come to me. Or maybe that’s really all I do know.”

She yawned as she stood up and nodding at the coffee tray, suggested Victoria put some in a flask to keep warm and she’d have it in an hour or so.

“Penny, how about this?” said Victoria. “What if you go back to bed and get a bit more sleep and I’ll open up the shop? I can’t do your appointments, but I can call everyone and re-book, and take messages, tidy up a bit, make sure everything’s in good order, and be all ready for you. You could come down for lunch, and you’d probably feel much better for the morning off.”

Penny gave her a grateful look and agreed.

“That would be absolutely wonderful, Victoria! Thank you. I’d love to get my head down.”

A few minutes later she had undressed, slipped under the covers, and was fast asleep.

Victoria puttered about in the shop until late morning, and then went out to buy a new magazine for the waiting area and some salad for lunch. In the shops, there was only one topic on everybody’s lips and she thought how the pubs would be buzzing that night.

As Victoria stood in the short queue at the supermarket, Morgan and Davies were on their way to Ty Brith. Of all the aspects of her job, Morgan found giving people bad news the most difficult, and what they had to tell the bridegroom was the worst possible news of all.

A few moments later they had been shown into a small sitting room on the ground floor and asked to wait.

They could hear voices coming from upstairs and soon the sound of hurried footsteps coming down the stairs. Emyr entered, his face a study in apprehension mixed with a dash of hope. As he looked at them his expression changed to fear.

“Hello,” he said, struggling to maintain his polite composure. “You’ve come with news and from the looks on your faces, it isn’t good.”

Davies nodded at his sergeant.

“Mr. Gruffydd, I’m afraid we do have bad news,” Morgan began. “Earlier this morning we recovered the body of a woman and, pending formal identification, we have reason to believe it’s that of your missing fiancée, Meg Wynne Thompson. We have come to suggest that you prepare yourself for the worst. And I am sorry to have to tell you this, sir, but the indications are that she met with foul play.”

Emyr sank into the nearest chair and looked at them.

“But who? How? Where did you find her? Where was she? Had she gone back to London?”

“Mr. Gruffydd, I’m sure you must have a lot of questions, but we can’t answer all of them yet. What I can tell you is that the body of a young woman answering her description was discovered this morning buried in the local cemetery.”

“But that’s incredible … how could that have happened? It doesn’t seem possible!”

“Well, it did happen, and that’s what we have to work on. Of course, this means we have a different kind of investigation on our hands now, and I’m sure you’ll give us your full cooperation. In fact, it would be very helpful to the investigation if you would agree to look at the body, with a view to identifying it.”

“Yes, of course. Absolutely. That goes without saying,” said Emyr. His face collapsed as he tried to deal with his emotions, and then, as the chilling reality struck home, he was blindsided by what to do about his father.

“Oh, God! What am I going to tell my father? He’s so near the end now, should I tell him or not? This will break his heart. Which would be better for him—to die knowing, or not knowing?”

The two police officers looked at each other and then Morgan leaned forward.

“Why don’t you ring the doctor and see what he has to say?”

“She,” said Emyr distractedly. “The doctor’s a she. And she’ll be coming out later to look in on him.”

“Oh, right, well, I’d ask her what to do, if I were you. She’ll know what to do for the best.”

The two police officers got up to go, leaving Emyr with his head in his hands.

“Just one more thing, Mr. Gruffydd,” said Davies. “We’ll need to re-interview members of the wedding party and get their fingerprints. We have their names and contact numbers, but we will need to speak to you again on a more formal basis, just to start clearing things up and eliminating people. I’m sorry, but I’m sure you understand there are certain procedures we have to follow.”

Emyr looked up at them, nodded slowly, and started to rise. “No, we’ll see ourselves out,” said Davies. “Stay where you are. And please know that we are very sorry we had to bring you this bad news.”

As the officers made their way through the main hall, they caught a glimpse of a woman they took to be Rhys Gruffydd’s nurse, making her way toward them. As she approached, she seemed startled to see them but recovered her composure quickly. About the same age as Morgan, she wore her fair hair pulled back in a ponytail with two long pieces at the front hanging down on each side of her eyes. They were long enough to get in the way, but not long enough to stay tucked behind her ears. She was wearing a light purple tunic with matching trousers.

“I’m looking for Mr. Gruffydd,” she said. “His father needs him. Now.”

“In there,” Morgan said, gesturing toward the sitting room.

Moments later, the nurse emerged and started quickly up the stairs, followed by Emyr.

“It’s my dad,” he said as he turned to look back at the officers. “He’s taken a turn for the worse.”

As the officers made their way to the car, Davies turned to his sergeant.