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

money from Afan without her knowledge. Why had the regular payment stopped, and had Trevor thought that he would benefit from Afan’s death?

Swift had forgotten to take the teabag from his mug. The tea was stewed but he drank it anyway while he rang Trevor’s number and listened to his cheery recording. Hi, Trev’s voicemail is broken. This is his fridge. Leave a message and I’ll stick it to myself with a magnet. He left a message and stood by the door of the café. The sun was setting, burnishing the sea red-gold. More boats were coming back on the evening tide. Weary rowers sat by the water’s edge, talking quietly. A cluster of windsurfers stood on the shingle, sipping coffee and sharing a packet of biscuits. There was the sense of a peaceful end of a day well spent. Once again, he thought that Afan should have been here to share the pleasure of the moment.

* * *

Swift was back in Cardiff, this time transported by an uncrowded mid-morning train. He sat with Trevor Wright in a noodle bar in Castle Arcade, near the wine shop where the young man worked. It was on the first floor, next to a balustraded walkway. Wright had a bland expression, a round, soft face and a brash manner. He was making his way speedily through a bowl of teriyaki beef, as if he was worried that someone might snatch it away. Swift had opted for a pumpkin katsu curry.

‘Nan told me you’d called her,’ Wright said. ‘I bet she roughed you up. That’s her style. She was getting on my case about finding out if Mr Griffith left me any money.’ He mimicked his grandmother: ‘You need to make sure you follow up on that, and don’t put it off like you usually do with things.’

‘Were you expecting him to leave you anything?’

‘He won’t have.’

‘Do you say that because you were in contact with him?’

‘I might have been. What’s it to you?’

Swift ignored him. ‘Your nan’s unaware of the standing order Mr Griffith had made to you.’

Wright speared a sliver of beef. ‘How come you know about it?’

‘I find things out.’

‘I suppose I should thank you for not dobbing me in with my nan about that.’

Swift took a sip from his Tiger beer. ‘Thanks aren’t needed. But I’m interested in how the standing order came about and why it ended.’

The greenish light from the oriel windows in the arcade roof gave Wright a sallow complexion. His red and white T-shirt stated, Partners in Wine. He scratched his chest above the lettering. ‘Why are you poking your nose in?’

‘Filling in the blanks.’

Wright pointed with a chopstick and said flippantly, ‘You think I might have murdered him.’

‘Did you?’

‘As if!’

‘That’s not an answer.’

Looking startled, Wright paused with a portion of peppers and onion halfway to his mouth. ‘Course I didn’t!’

‘Can you prove where you were when Mr Griffith was murdered?’

‘I can. Work. All. Day. Long.’

‘Okay. Let’s say I accept that. It’s helpful to hear about your contact with Afan Griffith.’

‘I suppose it’s no skin off my nose.’ Wright finished his food, burped and pushed the bowl away. ‘Afan Griffith contacted me on Facebook when I was sixteen. He told me who he was, and how he’d always regretted what happened to my mum. He said he’d like to offer me some financial help. At first, I worried he was some kinky perv coming on to me. Then I read some press cuttings my nan kept in the sideboard and saw that he’d been there when my mum had the accident. I thought, why not? If he reckoned he owed me and had the dosh to spare, I wasn’t going to refuse.’

Swift imagined what that must have been like for a sixteen-year-old. What teenager wouldn’t like the idea of money arriving in their account every month as if by magic? ‘That’s when the standing order was set up.’

‘Yeah. Griffith said I should use the money however I wanted, but he encouraged me to put it towards my education.’

Swift doubted that Wright had put the money to that use. Working in a wine shop didn’t demand qualifications. Rain was falling. Swift could hear it on the high windows, like a distant percussion. ‘Why did the money stop?’

Wright tensed. ‘I told Griffith to cancel it. I’d always been told that my mum had died in an accident. I didn’t read the full inquest report until early this year. I’d never understood exactly what had happened, how much Griffith was at fault. Nan never told me. Griffith should have done his job properly and broken my mum’s fall. Then I’d have had her in my life, instead of a cranky battleaxe of a nan.’

‘What made you read the inquest report?’ Swift asked.

‘I got to wondering . . . My girlfriend’s pregnant. I’m going to be a dad. Baby’s due any minute now. I was thinking about my mum a lot. Dreaming about her. I’ve no memories of her. I wanted to find out more about what had happened. When I read about it, all the details, I was furious with Griffith. He’d been trying to make amends with his money, and I’d betrayed my mum by accepting it. I sent him a message saying I didn’t want his payments anymore.’

‘You never met Afan Griffith in person?’

Wright picked up his chopsticks and tapped them sharply on the edge of his bowl. ‘Nope. And tell you what, I’m glad he’s dead. Makes me happy. I’ve got to get back to work.’

Swift watched him lope away, hands shoved in his pockets. He’d have had a strong motive for killing Afan. Swift didn’t want to contact DS Spencer, but Wright’s alibi needed to be checked through formal channels. He thought about how to pitch it without mentioning his arrangement with