The Ghost Before Christmas (3 page)

Chapter Four

‘When we reach the end of this road, there's going to be a brick wall, higher, wider and more solid than the Great Wall of China and it's going to have “END OF WORLD” chalked on it in large letters,' Peter prophesied.

‘It'll make a change from “DO NOT FEED THE EGOS OF THE WELSH ASSEMBLY MEMBERS”,' Trevor commented.

‘Did you make that up?' Lyn asked from the back seat where she and Daisy were sitting with the children.

‘Saw it, twice, along with “GO HOME ENGLISH”,' Peter added.

‘They know your views on the Welsh, darling.' Daisy looked down on Poppy in her cot.

‘Not the Welsh
people
, just their roads … their sheep …'

‘Is it much further?' Marty began to grizzle in his baby seat. Lyn wrapped her arm around him.

‘Could take us days the speed your husband is driving,' Peter grumbled.

Trevor glanced at the satnav. The “recalibrating” sign was up. ‘We're out of range of civilization, but by my calculations it's no more than a mile or two.'

‘Is that the unpronounceable name we're looking for?' Daisy asked when she saw a road sign.

‘It is.' Trevor turned left and drove down a road too narrow for road markings.

‘Would you like me to wind down the window and pick blackberries?' Peter sniped.

‘Wrong time of year,' Trevor retorted.

‘How lovely.' Daisy craned her neck to look at an old grey stone church on the right. Standing in a sea of ancient headstones, it was picture-postcard perfect. A row of low-built, single-storey cottages opposite, lined the road to a hump back bridge. Trevor drove slowly across it. The road widened. On the right was a post office, baker's, and general store; on the left a pub. Next to it was the detached farmhouse they'd seen in the brochure, fronting thick woodland.

Trevor stopped the car. Lyn unbuckled Marty from his baby seat. He stopped grizzling and wrapped his arms around her neck.

Peter stepped out, stretched his back, and looked at the weather-beaten stone farmhouse set in a winter-sad garden.

Lyn joined him with Marty. ‘Look, Marty, our home for a week.'

‘I can imagine Snow White living there with the dwarfs.' Daisy unbuckled the carry cot from the back seat.

‘Which means Trevor and I will crack our heads on the low ceilings,' Peter moaned.

‘Another reason you hate Wales – low ceilings in old cottages.' Trevor walked to the gate set in the drystone wall that hemmed the garden in.

‘You made it.' Dan emerged from the pub and hugged and kissed Lyn and Daisy. ‘Marty's enormous, and Poppy's beautiful, Daisy. I'm pleased to say she's not a bit like Collins.'

‘I swear you're larger than ever.' Peter offered Dan his hand.

‘Too much good food. Go on in, the house is open.'

‘You don't lock front doors in Wales?' Trevor asked.

‘We were expecting you.' Dan led the way up the path and showed them into a wood-panelled hall dominated by an ornately carved, age-blackened oak staircase. A decorated Christmas tree swept up from the ground to the first floor. A door on the left led into a comfortable sitting room, where a stone hearth housed a wood burning stove. Around it were grouped sofas and chairs upholstered in brown leather. The dark oak floorboards were partially covered by a patterned red Persian rug, its bright colour off-setting the drab grey stone walls.

 A door on the right opened into a dining room. A table and chairs large enough to seat ten dominated the centre of the room. A door at the back was open, giving a glimpse of a modern well-fitted kitchen which had been crafted in dark oak to match the flooring, panelling, windows, and stairs.

‘This is stunning, Dan. Centuries old, beautiful yet a real home,' Daisy complimented.

‘It was.' Dan opened the stove in the sitting room and tossed in a log from the pile stacked to the side of the hearth.

‘Your nephew Alun's?' Trevor guessed.

Dan nodded. ‘And before him, his mother's.'

‘I'll get our bags.' Peter went to the door.

‘I'll give you a hand,' Dan volunteered.

‘We'll check out the bedrooms.' Daisy and Lyn carried the babies upstairs. Trevor looked around. The house was substantial. Far larger than most modern houses, but it was no mansion. He imagined a well-to-do Tudor farmer building it with an eye to providing comfortable accommodation for his family, rather than impressing his neighbours.

He stepped outside and looked above the front door. Sheltered by the stone roof of the porch from the worst of the weather, the letters and numbers were almost as sharp as the day they'd been carved.

DANIEL EVANS 1580.

‘Relative?' he asked Dan when he carried in a case.

‘As direct as they come, or so I've been told. According to the archives, he inherited this valley from his family but needed his wife's dowry to finance the building of the house.'

‘You grew up here?' Trevor asked.

‘I did,' Dan confirmed.

A younger, slimmer version of Dan left the pub and joined Dan and Trevor. He offered Trevor his hand. ‘Welcome. I'm Dewi. If you need anything, anything at all, day or night, just telephone.'

‘Given the pub's next door we'll shout.' Peter appeared.

‘Keys.' Dewi gave them to Trevor as Peter's hands were full. ‘We serve food in the pub all day, so come over when you're ready.'

‘Thank you.'

‘Peter, you have to see the staircase and upstairs gallery?' Daisy shouted from the landing.

‘Original Tudor, polished by generations of Evans women.' Dan hauled up a suitcase.

‘This is where we'll spend our evenings,' Daisy said decisively when Peter carried up bags.  

‘The old long hall,' Dan informed her. ‘It was the family's living quarters when the pigs, horses, and cows were housed on the ground floor.'

‘Not far to go when they wanted to drag a pig up to roast in that inglenook.' Peter commented. Although the panelled gallery ran the full width of the house, whoever had decorated it had managed to make it look cosy, with red tapestry curtains and cushions on the window seats, comfortable leather chairs and sofas around the fire, and dark oak tables placed at strategic intervals for wine and food.

‘That is gorgeous. I'd forgotten what a real log fire looks like.' Daisy set the carry cot on a window seat and held her hands out to the stone-framed enormous hearth, which was large enough to be almost counted as a room in its own right.

‘Lit for the first time since my sister died, to welcome you. It does look lovely,' Dan agreed, ‘but it's not practical. This house would be riddled with cold spots if the central heating wasn't on.'

‘But it looks good. This is the perfect spot to relax in after we've put the children to bed,' Daisy continued. ‘We can leave the bedroom doors open and keep an eye on them.'

‘So we won't see you in the pub?' Dan sounded disappointed.

‘I have no doubt you'll see Peter and Trevor.'

‘That would be hardly fair on you, girls.'

‘What other time can we discuss our men's failings?' Lyn said.

‘Elin has reserved a table for you in the restaurant, come over and eat whenever suits you.'

‘Immediately suits me, Dan.' Trevor came upstairs with a load of baby paraphernalia.

Peter opened the doors on the gallery and looked inside the bedrooms. All had four posters, and en-suite bathrooms.

‘There are six bedrooms. They're all made up apart from the one at the far end,' Dan informed him, ‘It's locked because Elin put Alun and Christine's personal items in there.'

‘They look more comfortable than any hotel room I've stayed in.' Peter turned to Dan. ‘So, what's good to eat?'

‘Well, Dewi has a comprehensive menu, but my favourite is the chicken liver pâté and homemade wholemeal bread starter followed by steak casserole with dumplings, and fresh fruit salad and cream. You'll find appetisers in the fridge downstairs along with cans of beer and bottles of wine.'

‘You make appetisers?' Peter grinned, amused by the thought of Dan in a chef's outfit.

‘Elin, not me. She's a dab hand with the canapés and chocolates.' Dan heaped another log on the fire from the pile inside the hearth. ‘See you later.'

‘I've a better idea.' Daisy looked at the mountain of bags and cases littering the gallery. ‘Why don't you and Trevor get out from under our feet, Peter, and go to the pub with Dan. Lyn and I will join you after we've unpacked and organised everything.

‘Brilliant idea, love.' Peter was first through the door.

Chapter Five

Dan took Peter and Trevor to the restaurant kitchen where Dewi was mixing bread sauce. He introduced them to Elin and his great-niece Nia, who was “helping” Elin roll out the pastry for tartlets.

Nia looked warily at Trevor and Peter. Trevor crouched beside her until his eyes were on a level with hers. He held out his hand.

‘I'm Trevor.'

Nia gave him her fingers but only for a moment before pulling them away. She didn't say a word.

‘Those look very good,' Trevor pointed to the pastry cases. ‘Are they going to be mince tarts?'

Nia nodded.

‘I can't wait to try one.'

She picked up a stuffed penguin from the work surface, tucked it under her arm, climbed off her stool, went to a plastic box, opened it and returned with a miniature mince pie which she gave to Trevor.

‘For me?'

She nodded again.

‘Thank you.'

She gave Trevor a tentative smile.

Sensing Nia was uneasy in the presence of strangers, Trevor moved on to the bar where Dan was pulling pints for him and Peter.

‘You're good with children, Trevor,' Dewi complimented when he joined them. ‘That's the first time I've seen Nia communicate with a stranger. She lives in a world of her own. Dan will tell you, helping Elin in the kitchen and being read to are the only things she shows any interest in.'

‘She may not say much but she looks bright enough,' Peter took the pint of beer Dan handed him and lifted it. ‘Cheers. Here's to Wales.'

‘She's bright all right,' Dan agreed. ‘Elin and Dewi have the patience of angels with her, which is just as well. I'm a bit long in the tooth to start looking after kids.'

‘You're only a couple of years older than me.'

‘Exactly, Peter.' Dan handed Trevor a beer and picked up his own.

Dewi poured himself a tomato juice. ‘Please excuse me, gentlemen, I have stuffing, cranberry sauce, and white pudding sauce to make.'

‘Can't wait to try them,' Peter called after him as Dewi disappeared back into the kitchen.

‘Let's go upstairs to my private quarters,' Dan suggested, ‘we won't be disturbed there.'

Dan's apartment reminded Trevor of Dan's office when he'd worked out of the same police station as him. A bookcase filled with forensic text books and biographies was the only personal item in the living room.

‘Have you talked to the locals about your nephew's case?' Trevor sat on one of the two sofas that faced one another across a coffee table.

Dan went to a chest of drawers, opened the top one, and lifted out three files. ‘I had copies made for you and Peter.' He handed them over.

‘This is the official police file?' Peter said in surprise.

‘Made at the time by the investigating officers.'

‘How did you get it?' Trevor started reading.

‘Protocol's different in Wales if you were in school with the Superintendent.'

Peter opened his file. ‘I read somewhere that your nephew's marriage wasn't quite made in heaven.'

‘So Alun told me when I visited him yesterday.'

‘You didn't know before then?'

‘I came back here when Alun was arrested a month after Christine disappeared. Before then I was lucky if I managed to visit once or twice a year, but I don't need to tell you about how little leave a copper gets. I saw there were problems between Alun and Christine, and Christine and Dewi and Elin. My sister was reluctant to talk about it and I didn't press her.'

‘What exactly did Alun tell you about his marriage?'

‘That with hindsight he thought Christine was an alcoholic. It would certainly explain some of her more erratic behaviour.'

‘Like what?' Peter persisted.

‘Her anger, her temper, her refusal to help out in the family business or socialise with Dewi, Elin, and Alun's friends.'

‘You said there were problems between Dewi and Elin and Alun and Christine. What kind of problems?' Trevor asked.

‘None until Christine created them.'

‘You sure you're not taking your nephews' side here, Dan?' Trevor suggested.

‘I don't think so.' Dan nursed his pint glass. ‘All Dewi had ever wanted to do was cook. He couldn't wait to leave catering college and get started here. Alun ran the business side. Not only good with the books but the marketing, too. Most cottage rentals in Wales manage 20 to 40 per cent occupancy. Alun consistently got 80 per cent. Alun and Dewi had got on well when they were boys, and my sister and her husband tried to set things up so there'd be no business disagreements between them. They hoped the three boys would take over, but Jake, as you know, followed me into the force. The restaurant, pub, and cottage rental are run as three separate businesses under a single umbrella company. Everyone who works in them, including family, is paid a salary, profits are paid into the umbrella company, family involved in the day-to-day running of the businesses have director status, and are paid directors' bonuses. The scheme was designed to ensure an even spread of profits if one of the businesses did better than the others.'

‘It worked?' Peter asked.

‘Still works.'

‘Elin and Christine?' Trevor looked up from the file he was studying.

‘Elin works in the restaurant, so she's paid a wage and directors' bonus. Christine point blank refused to work in the business after she married Alun.'

‘She worked elsewhere?' Peter suggested.

‘Not after Nia was born. She called herself an actress and had couple of walk-on parts in S4C productions, but nothing regular.'

‘So Christine was never paid by any of the businesses?' Trevor checked.

‘No.'

‘She was happy about that?'

‘Anything but. After she disappeared, Dewi told me there'd been arguments between Christine, and Elin and him, because Christine felt Elin was being treated differently to her – which she was, because she actually worked in the business. But when he and Alun asked her to help out in the bar and the office in return for a salary and directors' bonus she point-blank refused.'

‘So Christine didn't get on with Dewi and Elin?' Peter pressed.

‘The worst argument was over the farmhouse. When Christine and Alun married, my sister gave them one of the holiday cottages because Christine didn't want to live in Alun's apartment in the pub. This one, in fact.' Dan glanced around the room.

‘Any reason?' Trevor asked.

‘She said she wanted her own front door. The day after my sister died, Christine moved into my sister's house. Dewi was furious. Aside from my sister's personal possessions, there were antiques, paintings, and other things of real and sentimental value that he felt should have been shared between him and Alun. Christine refused to allow Dewi and Elin to take any or even enter the house, although Dewi was the eldest son. Alun offered to pay a higher rent to the business. Dewi refused to accept it, because he felt the argument wasn't about money but his mother's legacy.'

‘Your sister didn't leave a will?' Trevor was surprised.

‘She did, leaving everything, including her share of the businesses, to be divided equally between the boys. Christine insisted as they were paying rent for the farmhouse it was still a joint asset. Dewi disagreed. As a result, my sister's funeral was an even more miserable occasion than it should have been, Christine's attitude was responsible for the first serious quarrel I ever saw between the boys.'

‘Yet Alun gave into her?' Peter said.

‘I knew Christine was making life difficult for him but I couldn't understand why he didn't stand up to her. Now I realise he must have been thinking of Nia. After Christine disappeared, Nia was checked by a doctor who found bruising suggestive of physical abuse. Fingermarks on her arms and legs, where she'd been gripped hard by smaller hands than Alun's.'

‘According to the file, there's no doubt it was Christine who attacked Alun with the meat cleaver,' Trevor noted.

‘None,' Dan concurred. ‘Christine's fingerprints were on the cleaver, the glass she'd been using, and the wine bottle she'd emptied. Locals checked the entire house. The only prints they found were Christine, Dewi, and Nia's – and Mike Edwards' in one of the spare bedrooms.'

‘No other visitors? Isn't that strange?' Peter mused.

‘Christine was difficult. But it was only after Alun found himself with more time to think than anyone needs in a lifetime, he came to the conclusion she was an alcoholic. When I last saw Alun I asked him why he married Christine. He started making excuses – among them that Christine felt hard done by because her sister had married into a wealthier family than ours – but I think the last thing he said was the most telling. She changed.'

‘A case of showing her best side until she had the ring on her finger and her husband under her thumb,' Peter murmured.

‘She wouldn't be the first.' Dan sat on the sofa beside Trevor.

Peter looked at the photographs of Alun's injuries and Nia's bruises. He set them aside. ‘Nasty piece of work, your niece-in-law.'

‘My sister was concerned for Alun and Nia. She died worrying about them.'

Trevor pulled the forensic report from the file. ‘The only blood found at the scene was Alun's?'

‘Yes.'

‘Both the front door and back doors were locked and bolted from the inside, and Dewi had to smash the glass in the back door to gain access to the house?'

‘Yes.'

‘A blood trail led up the stairs.'

‘A few drops too small to be seen by the naked eye were found on the treads,' Dan confirmed.

‘A dog trained to react to the smell of cadaver alerted on the gallery?' Trevor turned the page.

‘Unfortunately that doesn't mean anything. My sister died in her bedroom with the door open. The handler said the smell can linger for months, possibly years. The family have lived here for centuries. Scores of people have probably died within these walls.'

Trevor continued to scan the file. ‘Christine's coat and a packed suitcase were found in the living room?'

‘Behind the door. Which suggests she really was planning to leave that night with Mike Edwards,' Dan said.

‘It says here that Christine's bank account was well-padded.' Peter picked up his glass.

‘The local boys went into Christine and Alun's finances. They had separate accounts. Alun was shocked by the amount in Christine's account.'

‘Two hundred grand shocked,' Peter whistled.

‘And that's after she withdrew twenty grand in cash the day she disappeared.'

‘Where did it come from?' Trevor asked.

‘Alun gave Christine an allowance, although she rarely paid for anything. He settled the bills by standing order, they generally ate food from the restaurant, but that still didn't explain the amount. Then Dewi and Elin checked this house and realised some of my sister's antiques and paintings were missing.'

‘Christine had been selling them?'

‘The police tracked a few pieces down to auction rooms.'

‘Were they recovered?'

‘A Richard Wilson Italian landscape and some Georgian silverware have been retrieved. The most valuable items, including a set of four Tudor miniatures family legend attributed to Holbein have never been traced.'

‘What happened to the two hundred grand?' Peter was interested.

Dan shrugged. ‘Still in Christine's bank account. You know a criminal can't profit from his or her crimes so Alun's never tried to claim it.'

‘Not even on Nia's behalf?'

‘With Alun in gaol, we've had more to think about than money,' Dan explained.

‘Has there been any activity in Christine's account since the night she disappeared?' Trevor checked.

‘None.'

‘So, to summarise, Christine Phillips packed, prepared to leave with Mike Edwards, but stopped to knife her husband Alun when he came in from the pub. At some point afterwards she walked up the stairs, leaving spots of Alun's blood. Then she disappeared, ostensibly from a locked and secured house. She left her suitcase and coat, but her handbag, purse, credit cards, and passport vanished with her. There have been no sightings of her since.'

‘That's about the size of it,' Dan agreed.   

‘The passport could be telling.' Peter finished his beer.

‘There's no record of her leaving the country,' Dan informed him.

‘There wouldn't be if she travelled within Europe.'

Trevor set the file aside. ‘Nia was in the house but no one could find her until she suddenly reappeared on the stairs the following morning. Did anyone question her about the events of that night?'

‘The local police, a child psychologist, Dewi, Elin, and me. As you see from the file, her answer to every question was “Pengy knows”.'

‘She still has Pengy?'

‘The stuffed penguin that was watching her make pastry cases. It goes everywhere with her.'

Trevor recalled the toy. ‘Mind if I try talking to her?'

‘I don't see why not, but I'll check with Elin and Dewi first. They're her legal guardians.'

‘I'd want them and you to be there when I talk to Nia.'

‘She said she heard her mother shouting at her father and cries and screams.'

‘But nothing about where she hid?' Trevor finished her beer.

‘No. Do you want to try talking to her now?'

‘We're here for a week. There's no hurry. Let her get used to us being around first.'

‘You've an idea, haven't you?' Peter questioned.

‘You know me,' Trevor fell serious. ‘I always have an idea. The problem is it's not always helpful – or valid.'