Murder On Bwytheney by Elizabeth. Newby (phonics story books TXT) 📗

2018. Accusations had been made against Alan Rainer in relation to a development. It seemed that there was fierce opposition from locals who felt the plans weren’t in keeping with the kind of accommodation needed in the area. Planned initially as rental flats, permission was later granted for a change of use to luxury holiday accommodation. They were now being let on a weekly basis to those wanting to visit the city. Rainer was quoted as blaming a lack of interest in the residential flats. Locals accused him of overinflating the rent on purpose so they couldn’t afford them. They said that the more lucrative holiday accommodation had been his plan all along. There were also accusations thrown at the local mayor and councillors that they took back-handed payments to grant permission.

Of course, the paper had found no evidence of dodgy dealings and instead took the angle of the controversy and tensions around the development. But my journalistic nose told me that those at the paper believed there was truth in the rumours and had run the story to publicise it while covering their backs from any legal ramifications.

That’s one of the things I loved most about the city. Liverpudlians stood up for what was right. They recognised those who were less fortunate and fought fiercely for their rights. More than once, they'd bought far-right marches to a grounding halt, penning them into the train stations before they could even set foot on a pavement. It was a place where the little guy could beat Goliath. And I was convinced that this was what the paper was doing – exposing someone taking advantage of the people to make more money.

GAR Holdings was the business behind this development which meant Bwytheney’s very own Gregory Albright had his hands in this too. Was it possible that Gregory was bribing officials to make more money? Did he plan to do something similar with Melissa’s land? Because there was no way that would ever get approval unless people were willing to accept a bribe. It was a thought that left me feeling like I needed to jump in the shower and scour the dirt off my skin. I loved Bwytheney and its people, but now I was suddenly thinking it was full of murderers and con artists.

Would Gregory really want to do something like this on his own doorstep, though? It was one thing him doing it in a city on the mainland where he could keep his distance, but if he tried it here, it would be a very different story. He would be ostracised by much of the community and would face anger everywhere he turned. Of course, I didn't know that was what he wanted to do, but pieces of the puzzle were falling into place now.

There was just one more piece of the puzzle to sort. The thought that had been lingering in my mind somewhere was now fully formed. It seemed far-fetched, but I couldn’t ignore it, and before I took a trip to the mainland, there was some more searching I needed to do on my computer. That should tell me if it was possible, at least.

Chapter 14

A few years ago, I started delving into my family history. With so much online, it was easy to get started. At times, I did have to travel the length of the mainland to get more details. Over time, I’ve pieced together all kinds of family stories that were lost. There was the great grandfather killed while building a bridge during the first world war. His son who lied about his age so he could enlist but then died on the Somme. Oh, and let’s not forget the boy raised in a respectable children’s home that taught boys to become sailors. He eventually sailed the seas as well as spending time in prison for a drunken fight. The description of his tattoos really bought him to life. There is no doubt that I love stories, and there is something particularly fascinating when you can piece them together from the past. I’d been dabbling in genealogy ever since and had helped a few people on the island look into their families too. Although, most of their ancestors could be found in the graveyards dotted across the island. I was going to need every bit of my genealogy skills for my next piece of research.

I logged into my Ancestry account and readied myself to search through the births. I needed to find out more about Melissa’s secret child. There was little information to go on, but I reckoned it was enough. Melissa had never married, which meant I knew her surname. Her friend Pam had also told me that her child was a boy born in 1994. While the place of birth was a bit of a gamble, I was pretty sure it was Liverpool. Melissa had gone to stay with Pam, and everything about Pam suggested she was a scouser through and through.

I plugged in these details into the search terms and pressed enter. As suspected, many results popped up. It would take me ages to sort through them. But then I remembered that the father didn’t have anything to do with the baby. That meant the baby was probably registered with Melissa’s surname, Palmer. Finally, there were just a few relevant results. When I removed the girls, only two possible babies had the same surname as the mother: Anthony Palmer, whose birth was registered in quarter two of 1994 and Mark Palmer, registered in quarter three 1994. Investigating two dates would be manageable. There were still no guarantees, but it would be worth a trip to the mainland for the next stage.

I picked up my phone and text Dan, "Fancy a visitor this weekend?" It had been far too long since I visited. Dan was one of my best friends during my university years, and we had shared houses together. He was now enjoying life in Manchester, and I