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

He realised that there was no chance of talking to Sofia Weber in this din and if he left his seat, he’d never get back to it, so he texted her instead, to explain that he was on a crowded train and what he was doing. He asked her to check Calvin Callender on the PNC. She replied within minutes.

Okay, I’m at the station for a while today, so keep me posted. Spence left a message on Caris’s phone yesterday when he couldn’t raise her, but she hasn’t replied. Have had some interesting info back from Canadian police about Bruno. Talk later.

By the time the train meandered into Cardiff, Swift was desperate to flee from his forced immersion in the teenage world. The voluble girl called Betsy sitting next him had held court to her friends when she wasn’t slinking up and down the aisle. He now knew far more than he needed to about Gareth and Daisy’s love life, which was a rollercoaster of arguing, splitting up and getting back together. He’d also been educated in the thrills of Laser Quest and Storm Disco. Then there was Bellissima, the makeover and photo shoot shop, where Betsy was going to have her lashes dyed. She’d also benefit from an expert cosmetic consultation with skin tone matching and free samples — ‘An’ I don’t care what my mam says, I’m gettin’ a skin peel.’

He stepped from the train like an escapee from a life sentence and checked the map on his phone while screeching girls raced past him to the ticket barrier. Roath was about a forty-minute walk. He bought a coffee on the station concourse and set off, glad to be on the move.

Ninian Road was wide and tree-lined, opposite a huge park. The small Co-op was on a corner and busy with customers. Swift leafed through magazines, waiting for a chance to talk to one of the assistants at the counter. When the queue had dwindled, he took out the photo of Caris and Morgan and approached a woman who was free.

‘Hi, I wonder if you can help me. I said I’d drop by on some friends when I was in town, but I’ve lost their address and they’re not answering their phones. They live on this street. They’re called Caris and Morgan. Caris has mentioned that she shops in here. Would you recognise them from this photo?’

He wouldn’t have believed his story, but the woman was friendly and eager to help. He got the impression that having something different to talk about had brightened up her day. She studied the photo carefully but shook her head.

‘They don’t ring any bells. There’s loads of flats on this street with lots of coming and going, especially with Airbnb. We get so many people in and out of here, it’s hard to remember them.’ She showed the photo to the young man at the next till, but he also shook his head.

Swift was about to leave it there when he paused. He took the photo of himself and Afan from his pocket and passed it to her. ‘How about the man with me in this photo?’

She nodded immediately, tapping it. ‘I recognise him. Haven’t seen him in a long while now, but he used to pop in to get a sandwich. He was friendly, very polite. I remember him because he asked me about the area. He was looking at houses to buy. You’re a bit younger here!’

‘Don’t remind me. You wouldn’t know which house he was visiting?’

She smiled, her cheeks creasing into deep dimples. ‘Not the number, no. The reason he sticks in my mind is because we had a laugh. He’d seen a house he liked, and it had a pink stone pig outside on the wall by the steps. That tickled him, and he said that he might create a family crest with a pig rampant. I can’t say if that’s the place he bought, mind, or even if he bought anything around here at all, because I didn’t see him again after a while.’

‘How long ago was that?’

‘You’ve got me there. I’ve worked here for ever. At least five years ago, probably more. Sorry, but there’s people waiting.’

Swift set off along the street. The houses were Victorian, large and handsome, and in good condition. He could see from the numbers of bins and doorbells that most of them were multiple occupancy and unless he spied a pink pig, finding Morgan and Caris would be difficult. He’d have to do a property search online or wait for Sofia to come up with information. He walked for a good ten minutes, crossing busy intersections. The park opposite was teeming with runners, cyclists, sunbathers, dog walkers and a football game. The houses grew larger and were set back further from the road. Then he saw it — a large, fat pig curled on top of a stone pillar by a set of steep steps, its snout in the air. It was blue now, but still amusing, with a kind of porcine dignity.

The house was three-storey and imposing, with two tall brick chimneys. It was set on a steep incline, built of grey and cream granite. The deep bay windows were edged with inset geometric designs on the first two storeys. The path to the front door bisected a well-kept lawn. Six black bins stood in a neat row inside white iron railings. Swift could see that it would make a good investment. Perhaps this was where Afan had found a home for some of his money.

He climbed the eight steps to the solid front door, patting the pig’s head on the way. The stone was warm and rough. None of the six doorbells indicated a Griffith or Callender. He reached into his pocket for the set of keys he’d brought from Afan’s cottage, the ones labelled FD.