MURDER IN PEMBROKESHIRE an absolutely gripping crime mystery full of twists (Tyrone Swift Detective , GRETTA MULROONEY [books to read now .txt] 📗

cupped her left hand under her plaster and seemed to drift away into her own thoughts. They sat in a companionable silence for a couple of minutes. Swift was more relaxed than he had been for a while.

Sofia roused herself. ‘Maybe Afan gave most of his money away when he took to the simple country life. The bullying charities might already have had a share.’

‘He was a generous man, but he still had to pay rent.’

‘True.’

Swift told her what Kat had said about Afan giving money to Caris Murray. ‘Did you see Caris?’

‘Didn’t get much out of her. She said that she and Morgan Callender hadn’t been that close, and she was more annoyed than sad about him taking off. They’re both from the rough end of Holybridge, but they’ve not been on our radar for anything. Spence confirmed that Callender left a note, saying he was heading for London. He lived with his dad and brother and by all accounts, the brothers didn’t get on. Callender’s nineteen, so he was never actually filed as a missing person. Caris said she’d got on with Afan and wasn’t aware of any problems. She seemed evasive, but then I find most teenage girls unfathomable. Maybe she needed a loan and Afan gave her one. I wouldn’t rely too much on Kat Glover’s tittle-tattle. She strikes me as a woman who always has an angle.’

Swift scratched his chin stubble. He hadn’t bothered shaving for the last two mornings, because the water had been cool and Afan’s bathroom mirror was the size of an envelope.

Sofia noticed. ‘Are you aiming for the raggle-taggle gipsy look?’

‘Not deliberately, but shaving at Afan’s isn’t pleasurable.’

‘Hmm. Seems to me that all that was missing in his life was a hair shirt.’

He smiled at that and told her about his visit to Sion Hughes and the information concerning Afan’s train journey. ‘If Afan lied, and to more than one person, he must have needed to conceal something.’

‘Thanks, I’ll send that dummkopf Spence to the station tomorrow to ask at the ticket desk.’ Sofia reached for her stick, swaying slightly. ‘I’m bushed now and the pain’s kicking in. Got to go, I’ve a cab due. Are you staying?’

Swift had been about to tell her about Dale Toft, but he didn’t like to keep her any longer. Her eyes were washed with pain. ‘I’ve a phone call to make.’

When Sofia had gone, he sat and finished his ale. He liked the detective, but he was aware that she wasn’t operating at her best, given her injury and a sluggish sergeant. They’d missed the keys at Afan’s, and she might be overlooking other details or failing to follow up on them. She was listless, and his own experience told him that injury and painkillers could lead to impaired reasoning. He didn’t trust her or her sergeant to find Afan’s killer.

He went out into the small, pretty garden at the back of the pub. The phone signal was strong there and it was empty, which was good, as calls to Branna involved some shouting. He rang Ruth’s number. As soon as she answered, Branna seized the phone and appeared on screen. She was in her pyjamas, her hair damp from the bath.

‘Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!’

‘Hi, trouble, how are you?’

She laughed loudly, dancing from one foot to the other. ‘Been on beach an’ caught a crab!’

‘Terrific!’

‘An’ . . . an’,’ she said importantly, puffing her chest out, ‘Mummy an’ Marcel getting married an’ I’ll be bridesmaid.’

She’d blindsided him, but he forced a cheerful response. ‘That’s amazing. Can I help you choose your outfit?’

‘Yes!’ she shouted. ‘I want blue, like sky. You come to the wedding too. You have to be smart.’

‘Well . . . Hard for me, especially when someone with a name beginning with B messes around with my clothes and gets chocolate on them.’

She jumped up and down, almost dropping the phone. ‘Ha ha! That was me! Just a naughty joke! You have to wear a suit for wedding.’

‘We’ll see how it goes. Tell me what you had for supper.’ He needed to distract her from wedding invitations, and food was always a useful topic.

‘Salmon an’ pasta an’ ice cream.’

‘Not all together, I hope. That would be peculiar.’

‘Don’t be silly.’

She grew tired of talking after a couple of minutes, blew an airy kiss and handed the phone to her mother. Ruth was tanned and relaxed.

‘Hi, Ty. As you can see, Branna’s fine and still in the room.’

‘Good, okay. I’ll talk to you about other matters when you’re home. Congratulations on your wedding plans.’

‘Thanks. Talk more when we’re back in London. Everything okay with you? I was sorry to hear about your friend. I remember you always spoke warmly about him when you were in Lyon.’

‘It’s very sad. I’m making my own enquiries.’

‘Hmm. Isn’t it best to go home and leave it to the police?’

‘No, I owe it to Afan.’

Ruth gave the slight, disapproving frown that she’d started using with him in recent months. She walked with the phone to another room with a TV flickering in the background. ‘You and your strange priorities, Ty. He was hardly a close friend. You said you hadn’t seen him for years. I’m not sure why you feel such an obligation. Don’t forget that you have a responsibility to your daughter to stay out of trouble.’

He shouldn’t say the words, but what the hell. He was fed up with Ruth’s censorious tone. ‘Afan was good to me after you dumped me and I was in a bad way. I haven’t forgotten that.’

Ruth’s lips tightened. ‘Let’s not do the blame game, Ty. Surely we’ve moved on from that, and we both have very different lives now.’

‘I agree, Ruth, so maybe you could stop constantly implying that I’m to blame for doing