The Cold Light of Mourning (19 page)

Twenty-seven

A
fter what seemed an eternity but in reality was a very few minutes, the ambulance with its distinctive green-and-yellow markings arrived and paramedics rushed in, followed by two uniformed police officers.

As Victoria, who had lapsed into unconsciousness, was placed on the stretcher, Penny glanced quickly around the salon. Apart from the torn cellophane and scattered flowers, nothing seemed to have been disturbed.

“You go with her,” Davies directed. “I’ll leave an officer here and follow in the car. Got your keys?”

Penny pointed to her handbag on the floor.

Grasping Victoria’s hand tightly, Penny accompanied the stretcher and once it had been secured, clambered in after her friend. As a paramedic closed the vehicle’s rear doors, she glimpsed Davies, her handbag under his arm, pulling the door to the salon shut and sprinting off up the street to his parked car.

The ambulance pulled away and she turned her attention to Victoria who lay pale and still.

“They’ve taken her through to casualty,” an agitated Penny told Davies in the hospital’s reception area about fifteen minutes later. “They said to wait over here and they’d come and talk to me when they’ve had a chance to examine her and know more.”

She sat down heavily on a plastic waiting room chair and covered her face with her hands. Davies immediately sat down next to her and placed his arm tentatively around her shoulders, and then, when she didn’t resist, pulled her in to him.

“We’ll get whoever did this,” he said soothingly. “In the meantime, you have to stay strong for Victoria. I don’t know how serious her condition is, but it has to be good that we found her when we did and the paramedics were no time at all getting to her. And not only that, they brought the syringe with them, so they can find out what she was injected with. They’ll run tests.

“I think she’ll make it. You’ll see.”

He gave her shoulders a small squeeze and then stood up.

“I’ve spoken to Sgt. Morgan. We’re still searching for Emyr and we’re going to send a team to go over your salon to see if the attacker left anything behind.”

Penny nodded and then looked up at Davies.

“Will you stay with me, please?”

“I will. But I’ve called in another officer, and if I do have to go, I’ll make sure you’ve got someone with you and to drive you home. We can’t take any more chances. You could be next.”

They sat quietly, looking up expectantly every time someone emerged from the trauma area until, finally, a man wearing hospital greens came out and scanned the crowded room.

As Davies and Penny stood up, he moved toward them. He was middle-aged, with thinning grey hair and over the years seemed to have figured out how to completely hide his emotion. Unfortunately, his mask of neutrality ended up giving him an uncaring, stone-faced look. As he approached them, Penny had no idea if he had bad news or good but realized she had taken an instant dislike to him.

“You’re here for the woman who was brought in with the overdose?” he asked, looking at Davies.

“Yes, we are,” Davies replied. “This is her friend, Penny Brannigan, and I’m Detective Chief Inspector Davies, North Wales police.”

“Well, she hasn’t regained consciousness, and we’re not sure yet of her cardio status, but the good news is that she seems stable and she’s breathing on her own. We’ve got her on a drip and we’re running blood tests. The next twenty-four hours will be crucial to her recovery.

“That’s about all I can tell you at this point. You can wait here, if you like, or leave a number at the desk over there, and we’ll call you if there’s any change. Okay? Right then.” He nodded in a businesslike way and disappeared down the hall.

“I hate that!” said Penny. “Did you see what he did? It makes me furious!”

“What is it?” asked a bewildered Davies. “What did he do?”

“You don’t get it, do you?” Penny flared. “He completely ignored me, and talked only to you because you’re the man and I’m just the silly woman. She’s
my
friend, I’m the one who cares about her, and he should have spoken to me! Oh, I hate this getting older. Victoria was right—people treat us as if we’re invisible.” She paused for a moment and then added, “Or worse, imbeciles.”

Davies seemed taken aback by this outburst and knew he had to be careful not to seem patronizing or dismissive of Penny’s charged feelings.

“I hadn’t thought of it that way, but you’re right,” he said. “You are her friend and he should have spoken to you. It was insensitive of him and I’m sorry that happened.” He smiled at her. “Would a really bad cup of machine-made tea in a nasty styrofoam cup help, do you think?”

Penny shook her head.

“I think I’ll wait until I get home, whenever that might be,” she said, stifling a yawn. “I feel very tired all of a sudden. Really drained. I hope they’ll know soon if she’s going to be okay.”

A few moments later, Davies’s mobile rang.

He listened, nodded, said “right” a couple of times and then ended the call.

“That was Sgt. Morgan. She’s on her way here. She’s been up at the Hall again and there’s no one there except the housekeeper.”

“Gwennie,” said Penny mechanically.

“Yes, Gwennie. She’s moved in to look after the dog, apparently. Emyr hasn’t been home for days and she hasn’t heard from him. But Gwennie has confirmed that the dog lead that went missing on the morning of the wedding was a red, retractable one, so well done, you.

“The best thing now would be to leave an officer here with Victoria, and send you home with Sgt. Morgan. You can’t be left on your own after what’s happened, and if things change, Sgt. Morgan can drive you back here.

“Does that sound like a good plan?”

Penny nodded and they sat down to wait for Bethan Morgan. When the three of them left the hospital some time later, there had been no change in Victoria’s condition and night had fallen.

Sometime after midnight it started to rain and as she woke to a grey, dreary day, Penny felt the stirrings of resentment. She felt weighed down by all that was going on in her life, things over which she had no control. She also realized that for some time she had felt a creeping sense of boredom. How many times could she paint the same pastoral scene? The same fingernails? It had crossed her mind that it might be time to sell the business, but then what? Where would she go? What would she do?

Shaking off the feeling, she slipped on a turquoise bathrobe that had seen better days and stepped out into the living room. Morgan, who had spent a restless, uncomfortable night on the couch, was dressed and drinking tea.

“Good morning,” she said brightly. “There’s been no news from the hospital, so we’ll take that as a good sign. I’m waiting to hear from himself about what our next move is going to be. I thought he would have called by now, actually.”

She looked at the rumpled, grumpy Penny and smiled.

“You look like a woman who could use a nice cup of tea. Hope you don’t mind, but I brewed up,” she said gesturing at her cup, “but let me make some fresh for you.”

“I think I’ll have a bath first,” said Penny. “And then open the shop. And I think I’ll have coffee this morning, for a change. But thanks.”

“No problem. Oh, the rector called and he and his wife are on their way to the hospital.”

The morning dragged on endlessly as Penny waited for news. She dreaded having to answer customers’ questions and most of her clients showed a polite restraint in not asking too many. Everyone, of course, had heard about the attack, and all her regulars were deeply anxious to know if Victoria would be all right.

“I don’t know. I hope so,” was all Penny could tell them.

Morgan had made herself at home with the magazines in the waiting area and was catching up on all the latest news of has-been pop stars, obscenely rich athletes, and actors with really bad taste in just about everything.

Finally, just before noon, her mobile rang.

With an emery board suspended in the air, Penny and her customer turned anxious eyes toward Morgan. They held their breath and watched as Morgan’s expression changed from concentration and concern to relief and her shoulders relaxed as she ended the call.

“She’s come around,” said Morgan. “They think she’s going to be all right, but she doesn’t remember anything about what happened to her. She’s asking for you, though. I’ll drive you up as soon as you’re ready to go.”

Excusing herself from her customer, Penny went to check her appointment book.

Nodding, she turned to Morgan.

“Mrs. Lloyd is coming in after this lady,” she said, “so I’ll do her. As for the others, would you mind ringing them and asking if I can reschedule them until, say, this evening or tomorrow, in view of what’s happened? I’m sure they’ll be fine with that. Oh, and you can always tell them Victoria’s better, if they ask. They’ll like being among the first to know.”

Penny returned to her customer and the two of them began to discuss the good news.

Twenty minutes later, while Morgan was finishing up her calls, Mrs. Lloyd arrived for her Thursday manicure.

“Oh, my dear,” she said. “I was shocked when I heard what had happened. Not surprised, mind you. I know how these things go. There’s never just one murder. Oh, no. These people never stop at one. It has to go on and on until they’re caught.”

Looking at Morgan, who had moved on to tidying up the rows of nail varnish, Mrs. Lloyd asked pointedly, “And has he been caught?

“No offence, Penny dear, but I would have thought police resources would have been better spent catching the person who did this dreadful deed rather than assigning one of their officers to be your salon assistant.”

Penny laughed.

“Now, Mrs. Lloyd, the sergeant hasn’t been sent here to help me. They just thought in light of what happened I shouldn’t be alone. But now that you mention it, as she is here, perhaps we could ask her to make a cup of tea for you, if you’d like that.”

“Oh I would. You always see that in the movies, don’t you, where the nice lady policewoman gets sent off to make a cup of tea while the clever men solve the crime.”

“Mrs. Lloyd, don’t get me started!”

“Me, neither, Mrs. Lloyd,” laughed Morgan.

Half an hour later, they had come to Mrs. Lloyd’s favourite part of the manicure. What colour to choose? After much dithering and deciding, she finally opted for Windy City Pretty.

While Penny was applying the last few brushstrokes of top coat, Morgan announced she was going up to the flat to make sandwiches so they could have a quick lunch before setting off for the hospital.

A few minutes later, Mrs. Lloyd was admiring her new nails as she prepared to leave.

“I’m not sure I’d have that colour again, Penny,” she said. “But you do need to try out new things, don’t you? Sometimes they work out for the best and sometimes they don’t. And, if they’re really good, you wonder how you ever managed without them.”

Penny accompanied her to the door, and Mrs. Lloyd stepped out into the street. As Penny prepared to turn the shop sign to CLOSED, Mrs. Lloyd held up a finger.

“Speaking of trying out new things, Penny, Morwyn has given me a mobile phone. Got it at the post office of all places. Imagine! I never dreamed the post office would one day be in the telephone business, but who knew?

“Anyway, just pull it out of my bag for me, will you, dear? I’m still not used to carrying it around, but I need to have it handy in case someone calls. Otherwise, there’s no point to having one, is there? My nails are still a bit tacky and I wouldn’t want to ruin your beautiful handiwork.”

Mrs. Lloyd held out her bag for Penny to open and then stepped back.

“Oh dear me, I know that look! You’ve just remembered something and now you’ll be off to ring that policeman of yours. Well, this time at least you’ve actually finished my manicure. Honestly, Penny, sometimes I wonder about you.”

“You’re absolutely right, Mrs. Lloyd. Thanks to you, I’ve just remembered something really important. At least, I think it might be. Oh, I could hug you. Oh, what the hell!”

She gave Mrs. Lloyd a quick hug, said a hurried good-bye and ran back into the shop.

“Sgt. Morgan! Bethan!” she called as she raced up the stairs.

And as she turned into the High Street, Mrs. Lloyd was fiddling with the call button on her new telephone.

“Morwyn!” she said when her niece answered.

“I’ve just said something that’s set that Penny Branningan off again. She could hardly contain herself. But the funny thing is, I don’t know what it was. But I think it was something to do with my mobile phone.”

Twenty-eight

A
little while later, Davies beside her, Penny emerged from the small incident room that had been set up at Llanelen Police Station for his use during the investigation. As she wiped her inky fingertips with a tissue, she looked up at him and smiled.

“You’ll let me know if they match, won’t you?”

“Oh, you’ll be hearing from me, ma’am, I assure you.” They walked down the hall in an easy rhythm, their footsteps making soft padding sounds on the green linoleum.

“I figured that you knew more than you thought you did and sooner or later you’d remember something really critical.”

She looked at her fingertips that were still lightly covered in ink and then held them up to Davies.

“Those tissues are useless,” she said. “You might want to invest in some wet wipes.”

“Right, well, don’t let me keep you. I know you’re anxious to see your pal.” Davies smiled at her. “Oh, and do give her my best.”

Penny poked her head around the door of the hospital room and caught sight of Victoria sitting up in bed.

“Well, you look pale and interesting, but altogether much better than you did the last time I saw you,” she said as she entered. “How are you feeling?”

“Not too bad, really,” said Victoria in a weak voice. “A bit weird though. Almost myself but not quite there yet.”

“I’ll bet,” said Penny. “They told me you don’t remember anything about what happened. So you don’t remember someone showing up with a lavish bouquet of flowers?”

“No, I don’t. I think I remember pouring myself a glass of wine, and after that, nothing, really until this morning. I was quite shocked when they told me where I am. They said I might remember more in time but that often with traumatic events you just block the whole thing out.”

“What was it like when you regained consciousness?” Penny asked as she settled herself on the chair beside the bed and placed a modest bunch of carnations in Victoria’s lap. Victoria smiled her thanks, sank back into her pillows, picked up the cheerful pink flowers, and gazed into them.

“It was like waking up from a deep sleep, but I was very disoriented,” she said. “It was like being beneath the surface of awareness, if you know what I mean, while I tried to figure it out. Am I awake? Am I asleep? What’s happening to me?” She paused and looked very subdued. “I even thought, ‘Am I dead? Is this what it’s like to be dead?’ I don’t know how long that part lasted, but I was glad when it was over and then I knew I was alive, just like I used to be.”

“Wow. That’s really something.”

After a few moments of silence, Penny looked at her friend.

“I was really worried about you,” she said simply. “When we found you, you said you thought you might die.”

“Did I really?”

A thoughtful look, punctuated with puzzled confusion, crossed her face.

Sensing she had caused some distress, Penny tried lightly to move the conversation on.

“Well, something like that. Anyway, you’re on the mend, and that’s what counts,” she said briskly. “Did they say how long you’ll be here?” She looked around the small, clean room. “At least you’ve got a room of your own. That’s got to be worth something.”

“Mm. The room to myself is because of the policeman who has to sit outside the door. He’s very young and very dishy, one of the nurses told me. Fancies him like mad, she does!”

Penny looked toward the door where Bethan Morgan was now occupying the chair.

“He’s not there now, but we did see him when we came in. I guess Sgt. Morgan gave him a break and he’s gone off in search of the loo.

“Anyway, they told me I wasn’t to stay too long. But don’t worry, we’ll find who did this to you. And I guess you know, it is connected to Meg Wynne’s murder. So, all things considered, we’re very lucky to still have you with us.”

She stood up, patted her friend on the shoulder, and leaned over to give her a little hug.

“I miss having you about the place,” she said. “You kind of grow on people.”

Morgan swung around in her chair to look at the two of them and then got up and entered the room.

“Sister asked me to pop in and tell you that your time’s just about up, Penny. Hello, Mrs. Hopkirk. Glad to see you’re looking a bit better.”

As they prepared to leave, Penny reached into her bag.

“Almost forgot to give you this,” she said, handing over a greeting card in a pale pink envelope. “It’s from Gwennie. She’s really taken a shine to you, and was terribly cut up about it, when she heard what had happened. You made a deep impression on her. Oh, and Gareth sends his best.”

Victoria nodded and took the envelope.

“I’ll open it later,” she said, letting it drop beside her. “I’m too tired right now. But there was one thing I wanted to tell you. They told me I’d been given a heavy mix of street drugs. Where would anyone get filthy stuff like that around here?”

“Unfortunately, everywhere,” said Morgan. “People think street drugs are just a big-city problem, but they’re in every nook, cranny, and schoolyard of this country.”

As Morgan drove Penny home, her mobile rang. She pulled over to answer it, spoke briefly, and then tuned to Penny.

“You were right,” she said. “Your fingerprints were on one of the phones we recovered from the Meg Wynne burial site. There’s yours and another set we’ve still to match.”

They looked at each other.

“So let me just make sure I’ve got this straight,” said Penny. “Whoever that woman is, the one who came to the salon that morning pretending to be Meg Wynne, somehow her phone ended up in Meg Wynne’s grave?”

“That’s almost right,” said Morgan. “She had that phone in her possession, and that’s the one you pulled out of her bag for her, but the phone originally belonged to a kid in London. So technically, it wasn’t her phone.”

Penny nodded.

“I see, or at least I think I do. So when you find the woman whose fingerprints are also on the phone, you’ll have the accomplice. The woman who came to my shop that morning.”

“Right,” said Morgan as she checked to make sure the road was clear and then pulled smoothly back into the driving lane.

“He said something else, too. He told me to ‘get some wet wipes, whatever they are.’ ”

Penny laughed and looked at her fingertips.

“That’s all very well for your next villain, but doesn’t do me much good!”

Two days later, at lunchtime, Rev. Evans and Bronwyn drove Victoria home but declined to come up, saying they’d stop by in a day or two after Victoria had had a chance to rest up and settle in.

“Gareth and Sgt. Morgan might drop by later to bring us up to date,” Penny told her when she was settled on the couch. “How are you really?”

“I’m fine,” Victoria said, “unless I move too quickly. Then I get dizzy. I’m supposed to take it easy for a few more days. But I still don’t remember anything about that night, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“Well, never mind that now,” said Penny. “Come with me, I want to show you something. There’s a surprise for you in your room.”

Victoria made her way gingerly to the former box room, peeked in the door, and then squealed with delight.

The formerly windowless room had been freshly painted and transformed by a painting on one wall that looked like an open casement window with a view onto a windswept New England beach, complete with tall, waving grasses and a brilliant blue ocean. On each side of the painted window pale green curtains fluttered cheerfully in an imaginary breeze.

“Oh, it’s wonderful, Penny,” said Victoria.

“It’s a trompe l’oeil,” said Penny, “and rather good if I do say so myself. Thought it might transport you when you’re lying in bed. Might make the room seem a little more like a proper bedroom.”

“I love it!” said Victoria as she sat on the bed and looked gratefully at her friend. “But would you mind awfully leaving me to enjoy it? I think I’d like a nap now. Get a bit of rest.”

Penny nodded. “I’ll leave the door open, shall I? Just call me if you need anything. I’ll be here for an hour or so and then I’m going downstairs to work for the afternoon. I’ll sort something out for supper later.”

As she was speaking Victoria lay down and by the time she had finished, she was talking to herself; Victoria was sound asleep. Penny draped a light blanket over her, left the room, and sat down at the kitchen table.

We’re not nearly there yet, she thought. We don’t know the why, … why was Meg Wynne killed and Victoria attacked? When we know the why, we should know the who. And was the assault on Victoria meant to kill her or was it a warning? So many unanswered questions, so many pieces still to be fitted together.

She remembered how she and Emma had solved their jigsaw puzzles, each with her own way of doing it. While Emma would sift patiently through the pile looking for a piece of just the right shape, Penny could tell just by looking at the colour whether or not a piece would fit. This green one might look like the right shape, but the colour was just slightly too dark or too light.

I wonder what Emma would make of all this, she asked herself. Emma, with her insightful wisdom, who had seen so much of human nature in its purest, rawest form—the unguarded behaviour of children. As she thought of her dear old friend, an idea began to form in the back of her mind.

She glanced at her watch and stood up. Time to open the shop and get the girls ready for their Saturday night dates. As she reached the top of the stairs, the phone rang. Probably Bronwyn, she thought, checking to see how Victoria was doing. She thought about letting the answering machine pick up but then realized the ringing might wake Victoria.

“Hello?”

“Penny,” said a soft voice at the other end. “It’s Bethan. I’m just calling to let you know they think they’ve picked up our mystery woman. At a petrol station in Glasgow. I can’t say any more right now, but I’ll drop by as soon as I can.”

The line went dead and Penny slowly replaced the telephone receiver.

The afternoon wore on and just as Penny was getting ready to close up shop, the door opened and Sgt. Morgan entered, looking like the cat that got the cream.

“She was picked up in Scotland this morning, she’s been fingerprinted, and they match. We’ve got her.”

She smiled smugly and nodded as Penny gasped.

“Really? Scotland? How did they know it was her?”

“That’s the funny thing about policing,” said Morgan as, at a nod from Penny she locked the door and turned the sign to CLOSED. “No matter how high tech we get and how clever we think we are, it’s always something really simple that blows things wide open.

“This woman—we still don’t know her real name—was wearing a head scarf and you don’t see many of them around these days, so she fit the description on the memo that had been circulated to all the police services. Anyway, there she was using a credit card with a stolen number in a petrol station and it just so happened that an off-duty officer from Stirling was behind her in the queue. When the card was declined and the kerfuffle started—you know, the woman in the head scarf protesting there must be some mistake—he got curious.”

Penny opened the door to the flat and led the way upstairs.

“It’s uncanny how often you see it,” Bethan went on. “First, something has to happen and when it does, there’s someone on the scene smart enough to pick up on it and figure out what it means. That’s how these cases get solved.” She followed Penny into the flat where Victoria was setting the table.

“Anyway, I knew you’d want to know.” She looked brightly at the two of them. “Room for a little one at dinner? We could order in Thai. My treat!”

“Does Inspector Davies know you’re here?” asked Penny.

“Of course he does! He knows I like being here and he thought it might be a good idea if I kept an eye on the two of you while he’s away.”

“Away?”

“It’s his case, remember? So he’s gone to Scotland to question her. She’s got a lot of explaining to do, and we’re pretty sure she’ll tell us who she was working with.”

By the end of the evening they had their answer.

On Monday, Rev. Thomas folded the morning newspaper, set it beside his wife’s breakfast plate, removed his reading glasses, and placed them in their case.

“There’s something very wrong here, Bronwyn,” he said as he wiped homemade marmalade from his fingers before reaching for the cafetiere to pour himself the second cup of coffee he sometimes allowed himself. “This makes no sense to me,” he said, gesturing at the newspaper headline.

LATE LANDOWNER’S SON SOUGHT IN BRIDE’S SLAYING

“I know,” said Bronwyn as she picked up the newspaper. “The whole village is in shock. No one can believe it.”

“Yes, well, there’s that, too,” said Rev. Evans. “But no, what I’m referring to is that headline. It makes no sense. ‘Late Landowner’s Son’. Emyr is the landowner now. Why not just say ‘Landowner Sought in Bride’s Slaying’? Still, what’s it matter? The point is that they’re after the wrong chap. I saw his anguish that day when Meg Wynne went missing. Either he’s a very fine actor or he had nothing to do with it. And my money, what there is of it, is on the latter. There’s something not right here.”

“But that woman, that accomplice, what’s her name, oh, where is it?” said Bronwyn scanning the newspaper, “Here it is … Gillian Messenger, she’s given police all the details and she says Emyr put her up to it and that he killed Meg Wynne. That’s what the police are going on.”

“Well, they’re wrong,” said Rev. Thomas as he pushed himself away from the table and took a couple of steps toward his wife. Bending over, he kissed her upturned face.

“Lovely breakfast as usual, dear, thank you. I’ll be in my study if you should want me.”

A few minutes later he settled himself behind his desk, switched on his computer, and started to check his e-mail. Sometimes, on a Monday, there would be a special note from a parishioner telling him how much he’d enjoyed Sunday’s sermon. It didn’t happen often, but the rector enjoyed getting a friendly little note from time to time. This morning, though, there was just the usual rubbish that comes in overnight.

When he was finished with the delete button, he turned away from the computer, folded his hands on his desk, and gazed out the window. Usually he found the gentle view over the ancient green hills a great comfort as they restored his sense of calm. But not this morning. After a few moments he opened the top drawer, pulled out a small sweets tin, and gently lifted the lid. He looked at the green plastic cigarette lighter inside, then took it out and rolled it around in his fingers.