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

Someone had been into the cottage when he’d returned last night. There’d been no sign of a break-in, so whoever it was must have a key. Nothing had been taken, but the drawer in the kitchen table hadn’t been quite closed and he was sure he’d shut it firmly because it stuck easily.

He returned to Bryn’s teasing crumbs of information from the night before. He’d been drunk and talkative, but Swift reckoned that Bryn had only told him exactly what he’d wanted to. It had cast Bruno in a new light. He hadn’t just washed up at Tir Melys, as he’d implied. What must it be like for him, living in a place that had once belonged to his family and had changed hands in what sounded like a dubious transaction? And what was his motive for taking up a tenancy there — was it really what he’d called hiraeth? Had Bruno confided in Afan and then turned against him for some reason — maybe because Afan had challenged his motives and the big reveal that Bryn had mentioned? Bruno might have decided to silence Afan. It seemed a flimsy motive, but perhaps not to a man who was under pressure.

The Merchants must be planning to get rid of Tir Melys. That was why they hadn’t agreed to any suggestions for new ventures. If Afan had got caught in that web, he might have been a threat to someone.

This information about Afan and the bouldering accident might be vital. In Lyon, Afan had been a keen walker, just as he’d been at Tir Melys. He’d never mentioned an interest in any other outdoor activity and would have had even more of a reason than Dale Toft for giving up climbing. The accident must have weighed on him down the years. Had it, or a person associated with it, come back to haunt him?

Swift was staring out to sea when Lori Murray rang him. He heard the tension in her voice.

‘I’m sorry to bother you again. It’s just that Caris isn’t home yet, and she’s not answering her phone. I’ve still got a number for Morgan but when I rang, it said it’s no longer in use.’

Swift saw that it was two thirty. ‘What time were you expecting her?’

‘No later than one. I rang the station and they said there’s no train disruption.’

‘Maybe she’s been delayed in Cardiff.’

Lori sounded dubious. ‘Maybe, but she’s very good about ringing if she’s going to be late. Was she okay when you saw her?’

‘She was fine. You didn’t call her yesterday?’

‘Me? No. I’ve done the potatoes all ready for her to roast. I always prep the veg for her.’

‘She’s only a bit late. I expect she’s on her way. I’ll check in with you in a while.’

Back in the car, he hoped that Lori Murray was just being an overanxious mother. Then he took his phone from his pocket and searched for Dru Knight. There were a number of hits. The first he selected was from a report in the South Wales Echo:

WOMAN INJURED IN CLIMBING FALL

Drusilla Knight, 25, from Splott, Cardiff, was badly injured on Saturday afternoon. She was bouldering with companions from the MOVE club when she fell from a rock, injuring her head as well as sustaining other fractures. Ms Knight is in intensive care in Cardiff Royal Infirmary. There has been no comment from the police or MOVE. Ms Knight lives with her mother and has a baby son.

The article was accompanied by a photo, the kind of head-and-shoulders shot taken in a booth, of a young, dark-haired woman with a cheeky grin.

Later that week, the same paper carried the story that Dru Knight had died. A month later, the Western Mail had a summary of the inquest. It repeated the information that Dale Toft had given him, including a verdict of accidental death. It also listed the names of the three other climbers who’d been present, all of whom had been questioned by the police. One name stood out as Swift scanned them:

James Khalil

Katrina Glover

Norman Hunter

Kat Glover, who’d subsequently taken up residence at Tir Melys and who’d had a marked interest in Afan Griffith. Perhaps she’d been driven by more than romantic yearnings. He’d been speculating as to why Afan had been so long-suffering with Kat. Now maybe he’d found the reason.

* * *

Swift stopped the car fifteen minutes from Tir Melys, while he still had a signal, and phoned Lori. It was almost four thirty.

‘Still no sign of her and I can’t raise her on her phone,’ Lori said. ‘I rang Gwyn, because she’s supposed to pick Caris up here at half six. She hasn’t heard from her either. I’m beside myself with worry.’

‘I can call the detective who’s investigating Afan’s death. Let me have a word with her. Maybe she can ask the Cardiff police to call on Morgan, in case Caris is still there. Perhaps she’s been taken ill.’

He phoned Sofia Weber and was relieved when she picked up, sounding woolly. ‘Sorry to disturb your Sunday.’

‘It’s okay. I’m at the hospital, being poked about and waiting to have a blood test, so it’s nice to have a distraction.’

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Dunno. I’ve got a temperature. I keep coming over a bit odd and sleeping the sleep of the dead, so they decided they needed to stick needles in me.’

‘On a Sunday?’

‘Yeah, I’m in A & E. They must be having a slow day. They were keen for me to come in. What have you got?’

He explained about Caris. ‘Four hours or so isn’t a long time, but her mother says it’s unusual for her to be so late without ringing. Caris was supposed to be back to cook lunch for her mum,