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

Afan, but do you know who did? I believe you took crockery and a book to place by him in the cairn. That’s the kindest thing you’ve done in a while, Gwyn.’

She seemed about to weep again but she fought for control.

‘Elinor rang me, late that Monday afternoon. She sounded hysterical. She said she’d killed Afan because he’d found out what Guy had done to me and was insisting that she told the adoption people. She didn’t say how Afan knew, and I was too stunned to ask.’ She faltered. ‘Elinor ranted on and on about the baby she needed. She said that Afan’s body was in the cairn. I was so shocked I went cold all over. She said I had to swear not to tell anyone what she’d done, or about Guy and the school. I managed to calm her down, and I swore I wouldn’t say anything. How could I? If I did, it would all come out, everyone would hear about what happened to me and what I’d been doing to Elinor. I thought I’d be charged with blackmail or extortion. A crime, anyway. Caris, too, and that would have broken her mam’s heart. If I was in prison, there’d be no one to visit my dad. I’d already paid money I owed for his care and there was no way I could give it back.’ She hit her fists repeatedly on her knees. ‘What could I do? I had to agree to do what Elinor asked. I told her not to say anything to Caris about it. It was best to keep it between us. I’m so, so sorry. Afan was your friend.’ She broke down in tears and hid her face in her arm.

Swift’s back ached and his face was raw. He was tired of hearing people express their sadness and regret. He just wanted to move this investigation on, get it over with and escape the toxic confines of Tir Melys. ‘Afan was your friend too. You discussed local history, shared an interest in the past, learned Welsh together. You wanted to honour him in a way he’d understand. On Monday evening, you took the crockery and put it by his body. Then you went to his cottage at Tir Melys. You weren’t aware of my arrival. You took the beekeeping book and placed it with him. I wondered about someone running that risk, but it makes sense that it was you.’

She sat up. ‘I’d ordered that book for him, it was new. He loved it. I wanted him to have it by him. I had to do something. Say sorry.’

His anger spilled out. ‘A self-indulgent act, surely?’

Gwyn recoiled. ‘I . . . I’m . . .’

‘No, don’t say sorry again. You didn’t consider calling the police anonymously, instead of leaving his body where anyone, a child maybe, would find it?’

‘I didn’t dare . . . I couldn’t . . . Can’t you see?’

Swift ignored her pleadings. He was picking through a maze of information, going back over what Elinor had told him. Things about her marriage. He was still unsure. He spoke sternly to Gwyn. ‘You realise that you’ve allowed a second murder to happen by not informing the police about what Elinor told you?’

She’d been too intent on Afan’s death to consider the angles. Now it dawned on her. ‘Did Elinor murder Caris?’

He didn’t answer. Further on in the recording, Elinor said that after Afan’s death, Caris had told her she was going to reveal the truth about Guy. If Elinor was the killer, she must have pretended that she’d found Caris’s body because she could no longer stand the strain of waiting for someone else to discover the corpse. He had one last question for Gwyn. ‘Did you go back to Afan’s cottage last Sunday?’

Her voice was flat. ‘No. I haven’t been to Tir Melys since I took the book, apart from the concert.’ She made a helpless gesture and sank back in the chair.

It was probably Elinor, then, snooping around to see if I’d found out anything. She must have taken a key at some point. Swift called the landline at Tir Melys, hoping to get hold of Spencer. It rang out.

He stood at the window and watched the world go by. Low, bruised clouds promised another storm. Tir Melys, this tightly woven community of people circling and watching each other in a labyrinth of secrets, including Afan. A pressure cooker waiting to explode. They were defeating him. He was bamboozled by the intricacies. He leaned wearily against the sash window frame. Scraps of conversation came back to him, comments about illness, confidences, controlling behaviour and the sense of belonging that Tir Melys inspired. He ran through who had chosen to confide in whom and why, and a picture came into focus. Once again, he’d been viewing Tir Melys from the wrong perspective.

He glanced at Gwyn. Her eyes were closed, and tears slid down her cheeks. She wasn’t about to go anywhere. ‘Gwyn, you need to listen. I have to go. I want you to lock your door until the police come here. Do you understand?’

She swallowed. ‘Will they arrest me?’

‘Yes. Then you’ll be safe. You could be in danger. Let me out now, then lock up the shop and come back up here and lock your door. Hurry now.’

She did as he instructed, moving slowly. He rang Spencer as he drove out of Holybridge and left a message on his voicemail. Then he called the police station and informed them that they needed to go to Gwyn Bowen’s address immediately.

Chapter 20

The storm broke when Swift was a couple of miles from Tir Melys. Bright flashes of lightning cracked the sky. Thunder crashed and the rain poured. The light faded to a shadowy gloom. A dull dread filled him. His phone rang and he pulled in. It was DS