MURDER IN PEMBROKESHIRE an absolutely gripping crime mystery full of twists (Tyrone Swift Detective by GRETTA MULROONEY (free reads .txt) 📗

This was the first route he’d found into Afan’s past. ‘What did he confide in you?’

‘Not a great deal. One of the reasons why we didn’t stay together was because he was so closed off. He told me so little. But he did say that his parents’ marriage was very unhappy. He was an only child, and both his parents took their misery out on him and bullied him. His father was the worst, very mean and spiteful to him. When his father died, his mother sent him to a boarding school, couldn’t wait to get rid of him. She died soon after. I believe that he was often sad as a child.’

‘I’m not surprised. He never told me any of this.’

‘No. As I said, he was a clam. He formed that habit in childhood to protect himself and he could never escape it. It’s hard to share your life with a clam. The shell is too hard. When I heard what happened in Brussels, I was very worried about him, and so relieved when they agreed that he could retire on grounds of ill health.’

‘I heard that he suffered stress in his job. Was it linked to bullying?’

‘Afan loved that Brussels job and had settled in so well there. Then he had a new manager who was impossible, always pushing and criticising him and making veiled threats. In the end, Afan filed a grievance about bullying and harassment, and he was sick with the stress. It was a horrible, drawn-out affair. You could say that finally, they paid him to go away and get rid of the problem. It happens quite often, to avoid tribunals and hassle. You’ve seen how it goes.’ She sounded sad, resigned.

‘What you’ve told me joins a lot of dots about Afan and explains why he settled at a place like Tir Melys. Did he move here soon after he left Brussels?’

‘Yes, he’d been in contact with the community and moved straight there. He was content there, happy, grounded. It seemed like the last place where you’d find violence, murder. This is so hard to understand.’

‘I’m sorry, Amira.’

She sighed. ‘I realise that it was terrible for you, but I’m glad that it was you who found Afan. Someone he was fond of, not just a passer-by. You understand?’

‘I understand. Could you do something for me? Could you send me an email with all the information you’ve just given me about Afan? I’ll pass it to the police.’

‘Of course. I’ll do it this afternoon. I want to come to Afan’s funeral. When will it be?’

‘There’s no date yet. I’ll talk to the police and his solicitor and inform you.’

‘Thank you. We had some lovely evenings, didn’t we, by the Rhône? Wine, music and laughter.’

‘We did.’

‘I have to go to a meeting. I will email later. It’s good to talk to you about Afan.’

Swift stretched out on the ground, hands behind his head, and gazed at the sky. Afan had realised profits from property sales and he’d have had a hefty payoff from Interpol, given his seniority and years of service. Perhaps the money was sitting in savings accounts. He reflected on what Amira had told him. Who could Afan have been helping with cloak-and-dagger methods? It seemed to have been one person. Perhaps it had been Elinor, who was certainly in a pickle, sandwiched between the adoption service and her bullying husband. What were the trips to Cardiff about and were they linked to her situation?

His phone pinged. He sat up and saw that he’d had a text from Sofia.

Forensics back. Nothing, except one of Kat’s hairs on collar of Afan’s jacket. She said he let her wear it once when they were foraging and it started pouring. Rings true, given that he was a gent. No trace of anyone unknown in his house, just Kat, Suki and Bruno, who all admit visiting him, and of course yourself. Giles M in deep financial waters. Creditors have filed statutory demands for payments of debts. He could be bankrupt if he doesn’t negotiate payment. Could be something or nothing in terms of Afan.

He replied, giving her the bones of his conversation with Amira, and adding that the details would be in an email. He added, Could Jasmine or Peter have asked Afan for a loan? If so, they’d hardly have killed their benefactor.

He was wheeling the bike back to the road when his phone rang, caller withheld.

‘Hello, is that Mr Swift who was here the other night?’ A woman’s voice, thin and wheezy.

‘I’m Tyrone Swift. What do you mean, the other night?’

‘You were talking to my Caris at the door. I heard what you were saying.’

He recalled the face at the window. ‘Are you Caris’s mum?’

‘That’s right. Caris threw your card in the bin and I found it. I can’t stay on the phone long. Can you come and see me tonight? Caris won’t be here.’

‘Okay. What time? About seven?’

‘That’ll be all right, yes. I’ll have had my dinner. Make sure you knock loud, in case I have the telly on.’

He mounted the bike, planning to microwave some soup and take the car into Holybridge later. Suddenly, he remembered that Kat had invited him to dinner tonight, and he’d forgotten to make an excuse. He was relieved to have a reason for being absent from Tir Melys and not having to spend a solitary evening with her. He saw that it was almost five o’clock and sped back, cursing the lack of phone signal there. This was exactly the kind of situation that called for an arm’s length, apologetic text message.

* * *

Kat’s small hexagonal house was called Cartref Melys, and painted bubblegum pink with a corrugated roof. The wooden steps up to the door were lined with