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  ‘A young lady called Lydia Jones and Glyn Howe. Do you know them?’

  ‘How awful for her. Yes, I know her.’ His agitation grew. ‘How terrible that she should come across – I have a date with her tonight, although I don’t think I’ll keep it now.’

  ‘Perhaps you should, sir. A pretty girl, a nice meal, not a bad way to overcome the shock?’

  ‘She knows, does she, that the… that it was my sister?’

  ‘She knows, sir.’

  ‘This isn’t real,’ Matthew muttered.

  ‘What do you mean, sir?’

  ‘I mean murder is something in books, or on the films. It isn’t something that happens to you.’

  ‘Sadly, sir, we know all too well how real it can be. Now, would you like to see a doctor? This has been a terrible shock to you, although I don’t suppose you remember your sister very well, do you?’

  ‘I remember she was only eighteen when she disappeared and that’s too young to die!’

  They coaxed him gently to make him talk about her, the sister he had said goodbye to when he was only seventeen, but his memories were sketchy and he was too shocked to think clearly.

  ‘I know she wasn’t popular with the women, too pretty she was, and too well liked by young husbands.’ He smiled then, a wavering smile. ‘I remember seeing her shouting back at a neighbour who was accusing Rosie of trying to steal her husband. Never had any need to steal, they came flocking, from what I remember.’

  The policemen were silent, they had on record that Rosie Hiatt was a prostitute, with several court appearances for soliciting. Seeing her brother, so grief-stricken to hear of her death, they thought his romantic version of the truth was best left intact. This wasn’t the time for disillusion, the enquiry would reveal all that soon enough.

  ‘How did you get back from Brecon, sir?’ one of them asked.

  ‘By bus.’

  ‘Oh, that’s strange, we had men waiting at the railway station and watching the coaches. Do you happen to have saved your ticket, sir?’

  ‘Why?’

  The policeman shrugged and after searching through his pockets, Matthew gave them the crumpled bus ticket.

  ‘We would appreciate the names and addresses of places you stayed, too.’

  Matthew shook his head. His deep-set eyes were filled with pain. ‘I only stayed with someone on the last night. I have a small tent and I’ve been using that.’

  ‘We tried to intercept you, sir. As I explained we had men waiting at the coach station and the railway station in town. We didn’t want you to find out about Rosie by seeing newspapers or the like.’

  ‘I did see the account of the find in the newspapers, but I never dreamt for one moment that it concerned me. Poor Rosie.’ He broke down then, shivering with the horror of it and was left, with yet another cup of tea until he felt able to leave.

  ‘Just before you go, sir,’ Richards smiled and led him back to his seat. ‘We found something else at the castle.’

  ‘Something belonging to poor Rosie?’ Matthew frowned.

  ‘No, I don’t think this was anything to do with Rosie. Unless her death was due to her finding out something she shouldn’t. No, this wasn’t Rosie’s cup of tea at all. More yours!’ The man’s voice hardened and he stared at Matthew. ‘A bit wild you were when you were a young lad, weren’t you?’

  ‘What was it?’

  ‘An old oilskin jacket which we think might have been wrapped around a gun.’

  ‘Was she – was my sister shot?’

  ‘We can’t reveal the cause of death at present, sir.’ The superindendent paused, then added, ‘There was something else found. A box containing a few items that were stolen in a spate of robberies about the time your sister disappeared, sir. We haven’t recovered all the items stolen, just some of them.’

  ‘You think Rosie was involved in robberies?’

  ‘We think they’ve been there as long as your sister’s body. Her death and the robberies might be connected. She might have interrupted the thieves.’

  Matthew seemed dazed. He didn’t appear to hear what was being said. ‘Can I go now?’ he asked.

  ‘Of course, but you won’t be leaving the area, will you?’

  ‘I have a new post, a Head Teachership, which starts after the Easter holiday. Will all this be cleared up by then?’

  ‘By Easter? God ’elp, we hope so, sir.’

  Matthew didn’t go back to his hotel, but walked to Lydia’s home. It was a little early for her to be back from work but he would wait. He was choked with the emotional shock of knowing that a member of his family, his sister, had been killed, murdered. It was the strangest feeling, waves of disbelief and the hope there had been a mistake, followed by anger against the unknown person who had committed the ultimate crime and taken her life. He felt self-pity too, for the loss of the young girl he remembered as saucy, amusing, affectionate and pretty.

  When Lydia turned to walk up the steps she was singing. A cheerful song that was making her smile. Then she saw him and stopped, laughter fading as she looked at his face; pale, thinner than she remembered, the eyes huge and filled with an agony she could only imagine. The eyes told her he knew.

  ‘Oh Matthew, I’m so sorry,’ she said.

  He was angry with himself for not controlling the sobs then which racked his body.

  They went inside and mercifully Annie was not yet home, so they had a few minutes alone. He questioned her about how she and Glyn had found the body, what they were doing there, going over what she told him, sifting out and analysing every miniscule piece of information, needing to know even her deepest thoughts as she had looked down on his sister’s remains. He was touched and reduced to tears when she told him how she and Glyn had prayed.

  ‘I don’t think we should go on our date after all,’ he said taking deep breaths to hold his voice steady. ‘I want to walk and walk, on my own, do you understand?’

  ‘I’ll be here all evening if you want to talk about it,’ Lydia said, but although she stayed up until past eleven, he didn’t come.

  * * *

  When the police made Lydia go through the discovery of the body again, one of them remarked on the fact that there had been no digging tool found. They coaxed her to relive the moment when the body was seen, talking her through it slowly and methodically. ‘I remember I moved the torch beam around the area. I don’t know why, I wanted to take my mind off the sight of that grave I think, looking at the ordinary to block out the extra-ordinary. I remember the uneven mounds of earth and the dreadful scar that was the grave and—’

  ‘And?’ the policeman coaxed.

  ‘I remember seeing the fork and spade. They were thrown on the ground, and the fork had dirt on it, so it had been used.’

  ‘Good,’ the policeman encouraged. ‘Now, keep remembering, what else did you see? Think of yourself looking along the torch beam. Now, it’s moving across the grass, seeing the grave and the tools, and…? What else did you see?’

  Although she searched her mind diligently, she remembered nothing more.

  * * *

  Matthew met her as she closed the stall the following day and they walked to the bus station together. ‘Have the police questioned you again?’ Matthew asked. ‘I was there for two hours this morning, although I can’t see how I could help. Too much time has passed.’

  ‘I did remember something more,’ Lydia told him. ‘They took me through that evening step by step. I remembered something I hadn’t thought of when they talked to me before. They mentioned that no digging tools were found and I knew there was a fork and a spade when Glyn and I left the castle to call the police,’ she told him. ‘They’re clever mind, making me see it all again. It was as if I wasn’t really there, but just looking in on a scene in which others played the parts.’ She shivered at the memory. ‘Oh Matthew I can’t help thinking that there must have been two of them. One man must have still been there, watching us, waiting for us to go so he could take the tools before maki
ng his escape.’

  ‘But you don’t remember seeing anything else?’ Matthew asked.

  ‘No, I’ve remembered everything I’m going to,’ she said. ‘Now I want to put it out of my mind, at least until the inquest.’

  ‘I think you should. Forget it and try to think of something more cheering. Now, where shall we go tonight? Pictures?’

  ‘As long as it’s a comedy!’ she replied.

  They didn’t stay in the cinema very long. Lydia could see Matthew’s mind wasn’t on the film, he was staring down at his hands, or fidgeting in his seat.

  ‘Come on, Matthew, let’s go home,’ she said and he willingly agreed.

  The living room was full when they arrived at the house overlooking the bay. Billy was looking very subdued, sitting talking quietly to Gimlet. Glyn and Tomos were there and Molly was pouring tea she had just made.

  ‘We’ve all been interviewed by the police again,’ Glyn explained.

  ‘But why you, Dad?’ Lydia asked, seeing the worried expression on her father’s face.

  ‘I knew her, see, and they’re saying I was the last person to see her. That came out in the earlier inquiry when the family tried to find her. Sixteen years it is, mind, and they expect me to remember every detail, trying to trip me up and accusing me, if not of lying, then of being evasive.’

  ‘Gimlet too,’ Molly whispered. ‘It seems to me they were having a bit of a fling with the poor girl. Sounds like she was living off the streets.’

  ‘What did you say?’ Matthew had been close enough to hear the whispered words and he took hold of Molly as if to shake her.

  Tomos jumped up and threatened Matthew. ‘Take you hands off her. It’s well known that Rosie was a tart. Memories aren’t that short. What are you trying to make out, that she was pure and innocent? Found near a cache of jewellery wasn’t she? Sounds like a falling out of thieves to me!’

  ‘Leave it, Tomos,’ Glyn said quietly. ‘The man’s got enough to cope with. Come on, Matthew. Let Molly alone, it isn’t her fault. Gossip takes a long time to die.’

  Matthew released Molly and his shoulders drooped.

  ‘I know she was fond of men. I wasn’t such a child I didn’t realise that, but it seems wrong to talk about it now, while she’s there in the mortuary being studied like a jigsaw puzzle, while men try to make sense of her death.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Tomos said quietly, ‘but it’s best to face it before the papers spread it all. You can imagine how they’ll make a story out of this.’

  ‘All right. So Rosie was a prostitute!’ Matthew turned on Billy and Gimlet. ‘Is that how you two knew her?’

  Billy looked at his daughter. His face was almost as stricken as Matthew’s. ‘You might as well know, Lydia, the police got it out of me tonight and tomorrow that will be all over the papers too,’ Billy said in a shaking voice. He pushed the door, afraid that Annie might hear. ‘I want to keep this from your Mam, mind. Right? I met Rosie over the allotments that night. She told me she was expecting a child and accused me of being the father. I laughed, told her I’d deny it and pushed her away.’

  ‘How did she die?’ Lydia whispered.

  ‘The police haven’t said. But I pushed her and she tripped and fell and that’s all I know. Scared I was that she’d tell your Mam. I walked away, angry with her for trying to get me involved in her trouble. But I swear she wasn’t hurt. She sat there leaning back on her arms, swearing and shouting abuse till I reached the road and the sound of her had faded.’

  It was then, in the silence that followed Billy’s confession, that Lydia realised that her father was a suspect.

  Chapter Six

  Lydia couldn’t face Matthew knowing her father was implicated in the death of his sister. She went to work, returned home, dealt with the meals all as if she were a clockwork toy, wound up, faced in the right direction and programmed to perform.

  Although she half expected to see him every time she went for her bus, and when she stepped off it each evening, there was no sign of him. She would hurry home, anxiously looking at the faces of those she passed, walk up the steps to her door, climb the stairs and enter the living room, then give a sigh of relief when he wasn’t there. Another day’s reprieve before she had to face him. Yet she knew that soon she must.

  She presumed that the story of his sister’s sordid death, spread over all the newspapers, had forced him to leave. She and Molly bore the brunt of it too, with people coming to the market stalls and buying something inexpensive just for the excuse to ask a lot of foolish questions.

  So far, Annie had heard nothing. Shielded from the gossip by Billy and Lydia and, during the day, by Stella, she continued with her life without a worry, except the fear of being left alone for more than a brief interlude.

  The inquest on Rosie Hiatt reopened and was again postponed. The only surprise was the announcement that when she died she was four months pregnant. Rosie hadn’t been lying about that.

  The police visits trickled to a halt and for a few days Lydia began to relax, feeling that the awful business was at least put aside for a while and she could think about something else. She still saw Detective Superintentent Richards occasionally. He would call and stay for a cup of tea but he didn’t question her, he seemed concerned for her and anxious to reassure her that eveything would settle down and her life would return to how he had been before the discovery of the body in its lonely grave.

  ‘Memories are short for most people,’ he said. ‘Something else will happen and push this affair out of the limelight. But,’ he added, smiling kindly, ‘that won’t happen until we get this lot sorted, so, if there’s anything you think of, some small thing that you remember from that night, get in touch with me.’ He handed her a piece of paper bearing his name and telephone number. ‘You needn’t go to the police station, just give me a ring and talk to me or leave a message with my wife. I’ll help you deal with it with as little distress as possible.’

  She was grateful for his friendly interest and reassurance that, with the news coverage dying down, her father and Gimlet’s notoriety would die down too. It was all so long ago. She began to feel her heart lightening, her frowns easing and was even making plans again for the opening of the wool shop.

  Then, early one morning, there was a phone call.

  ‘Keep your mouth shut if you want to live.’

  Wondering if it was some kind of joke, a half smile on her face, she listened for a moment, hearing only breathing at the other end then she asked the caller if he would repeat it. ‘So I can guess which of my idiot friends you are,’ she laughed.

  ‘This isn’t a joke, you stupid bitch! Keep your mouth shut about what happened at the castle. Right? And don’t tell anyone or you’ll end up like Rosie!’

  She stared at the now buzzing instrument, still half convinced that it was some kind of joke, a sick joke, perhaps, but it couldn’t be a serious threat. Could it? She stared at the phone for a while as if expecting it to give some explanation, then she quickly wrote down the words the person had uttered. Torn between believing it and trying to laugh and guess who it had been, she began to set the tray for her mother’s breakfast with hands that trembled. Of course it was a joke. But who did she know who had that warped sense of humour?

  She heard her father coming downstairs and hastily pushed the copy of the message under the tray. Best she said and did nothing until she’d had time to think about it. She knew anything that might be relevant to the death of Rosie Hiatt should be reported, but something held her back. Perhaps this wasn’t anything to do with anything, just a silly idiot having a bit of fun at her expense.

  Walking to the bus station an hour later she felt as if all eyes were upon her. Was the person on the phone watching her? Hoping she would reveal her fear? Defiantly she waved at Molly who came rushing up, late as usual and she laughingly described the joke caller’s words, discussing in whispers the possibilities as to authorship.

  Continuing with the same light-hearted mood, s
he told her employer, Mrs Thomas, and she told Glyn when he called at the stall later that morning.

  ‘Lydia! You should have gone straight to the police!’ he said anxiously. ‘The threat might be real! Not likely, though,’ he hastily reassured her, ‘but you should never take chances by presuming the most likely reason for something so potentially dangerous.’

  Glyn had begun the habit of calling either at the house or at the market stall each day to see how she was feeling. Although she had been glad of his company the night the body had been found, she felt it was time he stopped. His telling her what she should do about the call irritated her.

  ‘All right, I’ll talk to Superintendent Richards, but it will probably be a waste of his time!’ she snapped.

  ‘Shall I come with you?’

  ‘No need. I intend going to see Matthew – I don’t relish talking to him, I’ve been putting it off. With Dad involved in the enquiry about Rosie’s death, he might not want to see me, but I have to try. I can’t put it off any longer. Perhaps he’ll come with me. It’s more to do with him than you, even if it was us who found poor Rosie Hiatt. She was his sister.’

  ‘Sorry, Lydia, I know you think I’m interfering but I don’t think you should tell anyone, not even Matthew, about the threatening call until the police have been told.’

  ‘Too late. I told Mrs Thomas and Molly. Laughed about it on the bus we did. So I expect half the village knows by now. Oh, and I told Tomos when he came to take Mam to Auntie Stella’s,’ she added defiantly.

  ‘That was foolish, Lydia.’ He spoke solemnly, so the words hung in the air.

  ‘Too late now if it was,’ she retorted unrepentantly.

  ‘Go now, take it to the police, I’ll watch the stall for half an hour, Mrs Thomas won’t mind and I haven’t any pick-ups for a while.’

  ‘I’ll go after work, with Matthew,’ she insisted.

  Before going into the house she went to where Matthew was staying and after a few words of sympathy, which he brushed aside in his obvious delight at seeing her, she explained about the call.