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

to see each other.’ Even as he said it, he knew that Morgan lacked the wherewithal to fend for himself. He’d squandered the opportunity handed to him on a plate. If he’d gone to London, he wouldn’t have survived. He saw the same understanding in Caris’s eyes and the droop of her shoulders. She was the one who always had to be in charge. He wanted to urge her to go to Bellissima’s or Storm Disco and have some fun.

‘I’d better get back to Morgan, make sure he’s okay.’ She hesitated, and then stepped closer. He could smell her lemony shampoo. ‘What you asked about Afan having any other worries. There was a strange situation at Tir Melys — a bit of a nightmare that I got trapped in. I wish now that I’d not got involved and told Afan about it. I’ve really regretted it, and I’ve started trying to put it right.’

‘What kind of nightmare?’

She licked her lips nervously. ‘It’s hard, because it concerns other people. I never meant it to . . .’ A phone rang and Morgan called, ‘It’s yours, Caz.’ She turned away. ‘I’d better get that, in case it’s my mam. I’ll be back tomorrow to see her, and I’ll be at the concert later. I’ll talk to you then.’

On the way back down, he saw that the door of flat three was open. A woman dressed in overalls, carrying a can of paint, was just going in. She glanced at him.

‘Redecorating?’ Swift asked.

‘And some! We’ve almost finished now, but the place was in a right state. Yobs throwing a party, apparently. If I was the owner, I’d be spitting hot coals!’

Swift sat on the steps outside the house, just below the pig. He was frustrated by Caris’s last remarks, indicating some other problem at Tir Melys. He rang Sofia Weber. ‘I found Morgan Callender. Caris is with him.’ He ran through what he’d discovered and gave her Morgan’s address. ‘They both have what sound like solid alibis. Caris promised that she’ll ring Spencer this afternoon.’

‘I won’t hold my breath. That’s all really helpful. Sounds like Afan thought they were star-crossed young lovers. He must have realised he’d saddled himself with a real problem when he heard about the damage. I’ll contact the solicitor now.’

‘Morgan won’t have to move immediately, will he?’

‘I don’t see why he should.’

‘His big fear is that his brother will come after him if he gets wind of where he is.’

Her voice was low, drained of energy. ‘Well . . . that’s another problem and not one for me. I’ve enough on my plate. I can issue an “on pain of death” instruction around the station that nobody’s to breathe a word, but I get what Caris means about the grapevine in Holybridge. I’ve looked Calvin up and there’s no record. I asked Spence about him. He’s got a reputation for being a lout and a big mouth, and he definitely dabbles in the drugs scene, but he’s never been fingered for anything.’

‘What did you find out about Bruno?’

‘Ah yes, Bruno the bee man. He did two and a half years in jail in Alberta for theft, came out nine years ago and headed to the UK soon after. It was all horse-related crime. He worked at a vast stables and was helping to relieve the owners of equipment — trailers, tack and the like. Expensive stuff. I suppose that Afan might have found out somehow.’

‘Even if he had, that would hardly be a reason to kill him. Would anyone at Tir Melys be that bothered if they knew about Bruno?’

‘Possibly not, my Lone Ranger, but not everyone likes the idea that a thief is living among them. Bruno might believe that it would disturb them. Are you going to delve into the fleshpots of Cardiff for the rest of the day?’

‘I might indulge in a little culture, Inspector.’

‘Ha! Fill your boots. I’m a bit chilly today, despite the sunshine. Maybe the weather’s about to turn and I’m feeling it in my bones.’

Before he left the steps, he sent a text message to Lori Murray.

I’ve seen Caris. She’s fine and with Morgan. Please keep that to yourself. I’m sure she’ll explain it all to you tomorrow.

He gave the pig a final pat and set off to find a Welsh-themed present for Branna.

* * *

He had an interesting chat with Bryn Price later that night. He headed to the kitchen when he arrived back to fetch milk and Bryn was in there, slugging wine, chopping tomatoes for chutney and chucking them sloppily into a huge stainless-steel pot. He had earbuds in and was executing little dance steps but took them out when he saw Swift.

‘I like late-night cooking sometimes,’ he said. ‘I’m a bad sleeper and it relaxes me. Glass of chateau loganberry?’ Bryn waved the bottle. He was well oiled and a little unsteady on his feet. The tomato chunks were hit and miss, and Swift eyed the sharp knife, hoping that Bryn didn’t slice his finger.

‘I will, thanks. You’ll be here until the early hours, doing that.’

‘Nah. I’ll leave it all marinating overnight. Gives it a great flavour. Then I’ll cook it up tomorrow. Bruno’s going to give me a hand filling the jars.’

Swift took a slice of underripe tomato, followed by a sip of wine. His palate tingled. ‘I wonder if he ever misses Canada. Wales must seem very small-scale.’

Bryn took another gulp of his wine. Some dribbled down his chin, but he didn’t notice. ‘He doesn’t mention it. Anyway, the boy’s come back to his roots, hasn’t he? The valleys called to him across the cold Atlantic.’ He sang through a hiccup, waving the knife around. ‘Come home again, come home again, they call through the oceans of time.’

‘Bruno told me his mother came from around here.’

Bryn